100 Fanfic Challenge!
by waychester
Summary: A collection of unrelated Hetalia drabbles for a 100 Fanfic Challenge! Comprised of fluff, angst, lemon, AU, and all of those other wonderful things we do so enjoy. MULTIPLE PAIRINGS, NOT JUST USUK!
1. Introductions and Meetings

**A/N: Hello there! This is the first of many USUK fanfics for my 100 Fanfic Challenge! The first prompt was Introductions/Meetings. I don't know how the hell I came up with this. It was an idea that was surfaced from the deepest recesses of my mind. This is a High School AU, with RichBoy!Arthur and PoorBoy!Alfred. My first fanfic, so go easy on me. No real yaoi or anything like that yet, just a strange meeting. **

**Disclaimer: I do not Hetalia: Axis Powers (sadly) nor Doctor Who (shut up I had to slip a reference in there XD), or Harry Potter. (God I'm a nerd.)**

**Note: None of these drabbles are related in any way. (Maybe later on I'll do a two-shot, but it's unlikely.)**

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><p>Arthur stared blankly at the computer screen before him, fingers hovering tantalizingly over his keyboard. What could he possibly write? Nothing came to mind. He had already written an article about the dangers of childhood obesity and the dastardly food sold in this country….And although he would be more than delighted to write thousands more articles on the subject simply to stress the point, he was pretty certain that he would not be permitted to do so.<p>

The young Brit let out an audible sigh and leaned back in the old, un-sturdy swivel chair he was seated in; running a hand through his sandy, golden locks in exasperation. He simply sat there and stared at the blindingly white word document before him for a moment, until finally he decided to wing it and see what his mind would first supply if he just began typing.

_Somebody get me out of here._

He groaned aloud this time. Great. The only thing he could think to write right now was a desperate SOS. And Arthur was positive that wouldn't go over well with all 7 of the school newspaper's readers.

Arthur's large brow furrowed. What did these bloody Americans want to hear about, anyway? The only thing the teens in his school truly cared about nowadays was the latest celebrity gossip and all of that other convoluted nonsense. "Lord knows I have no desire to know about _that,_" he muttered scathingly.

The young Brit had moved from his hometown in London to, as he put it, "this blasted, insufferable, country", no little than a couple of months ago, due to his Dad's work as a rather important CEO of a toy company. (It may sound whimsical and silly, but it was difficult work, mind you.) From the moment he had arrived, he had completely loathed the place. A disgusting, filthy country built off of grease and machinery, the Brit had said. Yet there was absolutely nothing Arthur could do about it. He had been shipped off to the nearest High School –Berkley Hills High School of San Francisco, California- and had been there ever since. The indignant 17 year old had refused to make friends with anyone, preferring his peaceful solitude over the noisy company of the American teenagers. Besides, he was pretty confident that those High Schoolers didn't quite like him either. But that was all well and good with him. He could just dig himself a comfortable little rut in the school as the stubborn, isolated new student. Arthur would get good grades; possibly get a scholarship to a good college, and then move far, far away from the place. He could find a way to endure his senior year at Berkley Hills High.

At least, that's what he had attempted to do so far. For the most part, it had worked out pretty well. Arthur spent his school days alone, doing homework or idly writing poetry in the vacant pages of his notebooks. He had taken up a Journalism class- since hardly any other students were in it, and those that were didn't dare to bother him more than necessary- and was doing great in all of his other classes. The young Englishman had finally become content with his life in California. Content, yes, but not happy.

But at the moment Arthur seemed to be particularly disgruntled with a severe case of writer's block. He tried desperately to come up with some sort of idea for a captivating front page story, but was still drawing a blank. Finally, the Brit stood from his computer and promptly left the room, too frustrated to write any longer (not that he had been writing much anything before). He would rather get an F in Journalism than deal with his writer's block, coupled with the splitting headache that seemed to be pounding against his skull, any longer.

Quietly, Arthur strode over to the vast kitchen in his father's large estate, scouring the cabinets for something to help with his headache. Finally, he settled on a couple of Tylenol. With a quick swig of water, he gulped down the pills, hoping that his headache would be cured in the next 15-20 minutes, as the box promised.

Yet as soon as Arthur had settled comfortably onto his expensive couch, contentedly curled up with a blanket, a steaming cup of Earl Grey, and his favorite episode of Doctor Who, he heard a rather loud knock on the door.

The young man sighed and checked the large, ornate cuckoo clock- that his father had attained on a business trip to Germany- above the fireplace. 11:30 at night? Who could possibly be visiting this late? And in the pouring rain, no doubt? His father wasn't home- Mr. Kirkland had belled his son earlier today and had told him he would be caught up at a very important meeting, and so he would not be home until late- and his mother wasn't home either. She was at the neighbors' dinner party that she had been invited to the week before. It would be obvious that no one but the Kirkland's peculiar son was home, due to the fact that both of his parents' Bentleys were absent from the driveway. So what could anyone possibly want with him?

Arthur sunk deeper into the plushy cushions of the lavish couch, hoping that maybe if he ignored the knock on the door, the person who had administered it would go away. Just when Arthur was finally assured that the knocker had left, however, he heard it again. Another knock, and louder this time. With that attitude, whoever was on the other side of that door was not likely to give up until his call was answered. Reluctantly, Arthur pried himself from his comfortable seat on the couch, paused Doctor Who, and strode briskly into the foyer, expression clearly irritated. With a harsh yank of the handle, Arthur thrust the door open, a scowl already plastered across his face.

Much to the Brit's surprise, in his doorway stood a sunny blonde teenager, who seemed to be about the same age as him- maybe a tad younger. His golden locks were severely dampened and plastered to his forehead; all except one little curl near his part, which seemed to stay as buoyant as ever. The mysterious teen's eyes were a deep, mesmerizing sapphire, the kind that even the sky on its best day would be envious of; though they were hidden behind a pair of square-framed glasses (which were fogged up from the rain). His clothes were completely drenched, and he was shivering like crazy, yet despite this his teeth were still spread into an overly cheerful grin. Arthur vaguely recognized the teen as one of the sophomores at his school that he had seen roaming the halls a couple of times, but had never really paid much attention to. What was this guy doing at his house?

"H-Hey!" the boy chimed brightly, trying to seize his teeth from chattering, though he seemed to be failing. "You're Arthur Kirkland, right? Sorry to bug you n' all, but my car broke down a lil' while ago n' I've been tryin' to find someone to help but everyone so far has slammed the door on me and uh…anyways I was just wonderin' if you could spare a sec and help me out?"

Arthur blinked. The blonde was a fast-talker, and oh _Lord_ his grammar was atrocious. He let what the teen had said sink in for a moment, and then proceeded to stroke his forehead in deep thought. "Uhm…" he muttered, too tired to dwell on it much longer. Of course, he did _not _want despicable American teenagers traipsing around in his house, dirtying everything with their filthy hands, but there was something about the boy's hopelessly sunny attitude that made it hard to refuse. Plus, the boy was going to get hypothermia if he didn't get inside soon. With a sigh, Arthur inched the door open a little, just enough to let the teen in. "Come in."

The blonde nearly bounced into the house, his dazzling smile widening even more, if that were possible. "Thanks, dude! I 'preciate it n' all. …Whoa! Nice place, man! Jeez, you live it up big, doncha?" He turned to the young Brit then, an excited grin playing at his lips, blue eyes alight with wonder behind his foggy glasses.

Arthur raised one large, bushy eyebrow, thoroughly offended. He had always hated living in such a luxurious manner, hated how he got special treatment for it. People usually steered clear of him, preferred to leave the poor lonely boy be, unless they saw the apparent wealth his family possessed. That was when _everybody_ wanted to be his friend, simply for what he had, not for who he was. He had always despised that. Besides, Arthur preferred a more simplistic way of living. As long as he had a roof over his head, a bed to sleep in, some tea, and a nice book to curl up with, he could live perfectly fine, thank you very much.

"Well I didn't seem to have much of a choice," Arthur snapped, British accent heavy and full of annoyance. "And take your shoes off, you git! You're tracking mud all over the carpet!"

The boy looked down at his feet, which were still adorned with his tattered and dirtied running shoes. "Oh, dude, I'm sorry! I didn't notice!" he exclaimed, quickly yanking the sneakers off and setting them on the hardwood floor near the door. He sounded sincere, but Arthur was irritated all the same, rolling his eyes with extra exaggeration, simply so the teen could notice.

The teen suddenly turned to Arthur, his hand held out for a handshake, beaming. "I'm Alfred, by the way!" he chirped. "Totally sorry 'bout the carpet, dude. I'll help 'ya clean it if you want…"

Unwillingly, Arthur complied and shook Alfred's firm, calloused hand. He took note that Alfred, although he was only in his sophomore year, seemed to be much taller than him. "There's no need….Alfred…I'm perfectly capable of cleaning it myself."

Alfred dropped his hand then, stuffing his hands carelessly into the pockets of his worn-out (and still completely drenched) jeans. "Suit yourself." He shrugged.

Arthur folded his arms across his chest. "How long have you been standing outside, exactly?" he inquired. "You're bloody drenched."

Alfred bit his lip. "Uh…" he pondered. "Maybe an hour? I dunno. No one would help me out so I kept goin' from house to house and askin' for help."

The young Englishman flinched at Alfred's horrid enunciation. _"Don't know. Going. Asking," _he corrected, enunciating each syllable with great emphasis, as if he were speaking to a toddler. The teen didn't seem to understand that he was being insulted and/or corrected, however. He simply glanced around the house in wonderment, still obviously flabbergasted at how luxurious it was, a dopy grin plastered across his face. "What's the matter with you? Have you never seen a house before?"

Alfred laughed; a good-natured, infectious sort of laugh, which echoed throughout the cavernous estate. Arthur was a bit flustered by how charming it was, and coughed in an attempt to cover up the slight dusting of blush that threatened to color his cheeks. "O'course I have," said the American, still using that disgusting grammar of his. "But just not one as big as this…._Wow. _Is that a flat screen?"

The sunny blonde nearly rushed over to the TV in all of his excitement, gazing at it in complete and utter awe. "Wow," he breathed, admiring the incredible picture (which was still paused on Doctor Who). "Why isn't it, uh, movin'?"

Arthur snickered. "What? Didn't you know you could _pause_ programs on the telly now? It's been like that for quite a while, actually," he asked skeptically, holding up the remote and pointing to the obvious 'pause' button in the center.

"Huh? Oh, I guess my family's a little outdated," Alfred chuckled. "We still gotta turn a knob, if we can get a signal, that is."

The young Brit seemed a little surprised by this. Tellies that were controlled by _knobs_? Did they even make those anymore? Arthur began to doubt the scorn he was feeling towards the teen. Maybe Alfred wasn't just admiring Arthur's belongings and his household because he was jealous, but because he simply hadn't seen half of it in his life. The thought seemed ridiculous to Arthur, but then again, many families were poor nowadays…

Arthur nodded. "I see," he commented brusquely. "Now, uh…You're completely soaked. You'll catch a cold soon if you don't change your clothes. …You might fit into some of my father's old things…"

"A-are ya' sure? You don't havta do that for me! I just need some help with my car…" Alfred protested.

"No, no, you really ought to have a change of clothes. I'll be right back." And with that, Arthur strode out of the room to fetch a fresh pair of clothes for the sunny blonde teenager.

As Arthur gathered a nice, clean set of clothes for Alfred to wear, he thought upon the teen for a moment. He was obviously admiring Arthur's house more than speaking to the Brit himself, and that angered Arthur as the same action always had. People always liked him solely for his belongings. Was this Alfred kid the same way? At first it had appeared so, but Alfred seemed…different than the others. The teen radiated a sort of childish innocence, in which he was simply excited by every little thing he saw. He _had_ also been kind to Arthur….And he genuinely seemed like he had never _seen_ anything like it in his life.

Well. Maybe Arthur could strike up a conversation with the American, see what he was like. Did he really admire only his belongings, or would he perhaps want to become friends… because of Arthur's personality?

Arthur suddenly realized what he was thinking as he snapped back into reality. _Oh belt it, Arthur. That's absurd. _He thought. _He's a bloody American! Besides, you have a paper to write! _

The Brit decided that his conscience was right. He would give Alfred a change of clothes, help him with his car, and try to get him out as soon as possible so he could finish his paper.

When Arthur returned, Alfred was sitting on the couch, flipping through a book that had been on the cherry wood coffee table before him. It was a hardcover copy of the latest Harry Potter Novel- The Deathly Hallows. Arthur wondered briefly what possible interest someone like Alfred would have in such a book, then quirked and eyebrow. He cleared his throat rather loudly, and Alfred looked up suddenly to see the Brit scolding him. "Found something you like?" Arthur asked scornfully.

Alfred's eyes widened and he set the book down gently. "Sorry!" he apologized. "I didn't mean to uh...pry or nothin'! I just saw it on the coffee table and I've been dyin' to read the last one, so…..I mean…yeah…Sorry!"

Arthur looked a bit astonished as he sat down next to the teenager, studying the cover of the large fantasy novel. "You've read the series?" he asked, though he attempted to hide his shock as he looked quizzically back up at Alfred.

"Well..yeah!" Alfred's lips spread into a sheepish smile. "I don't get to read much, 'cause I don't have that many books at home, but we have these from when my Mom used to read 'em….I didn't really have anything to do so I read 'em…But I haven't been able to get my hands on the last one! Mom doesn't have it, and I can't afford it and it's always checked out at the library…" Alfred's expression momentarily flickered to disappointment, but then suddenly he began beaming again. "But they're real great! And uh…sorry for lookin' at your book and all…"

At first Arthur didn't know what to say. Maybe this boy wasn't as dense as he had thought before. Arthur glanced around nervously, since he had never been any good at conversation, but then finally settled on something to say. "Well I haven't quite finished the last book either but…I can lend it to you when I'm done, if you like."

Alfred practically bounced out of his seat in enthusiasm, smile suddenly broadening. "Wow! You'd really do that for me? Thanks, Art!"

"Don't call me that," Arthur jeered, though his tone was not as irritated as it had been before. In fact, he couldn't help but let a small smile spread across his own face. Alfred's mood seemed to be palpable. For a moment, Arthur mused on how the sunny teen's smile seemed to be like the bright, warming rays of the sun, while his eyes were the endless beauty of a deep blue sky…

And then he mentally slapped himself and blinked back into reality.

Suddenly, Arthur noticed that Alfred was still drenched from head to toe. "Oh," he said, a bit flustered. "Here…I brought a change of clothes for you. After you change I can go and help you fix your car so you won't be stuck in this bloomin' storm any longer." Arthur crossed his arms and averted his gaze to the side, angry with himself that he had gotten so carried away.

Alfred was still grinning. "Thanks a lot, Art," he said, disregarding the Brit's earlier protests. "You've been a great help to me n' all….And you're a really cool guy! I hope we can be friends n' all after this!"

Normally, Arthur would've immediately protested against the very idea. However, this time, he thought about it for a moment. Alfred _didn't_ seem like such a bad person after all. It seemed he really wasn't after Arthur's money. With Alfred, it all seemed to be genuine sincerity and longing for friendship with anyone he met. It was almost something that comforted Arthur, made him feel at peace to be in the presence of the sunshiny, fast-talking blonde teenager. He could walk by Alfred's side and revel in his cheerful attitude. It was just the sort of thing someone like Arthur needed, to be surrounded by someone as bright as Alfred. …..Although he was still an insufferable, grammatically incorrect, idiotic, and rather _annoying_ American oaf…

"Whatever…"

After that, Alfred had bounded off to the bathroom to change into his dry clothes. The two had then taken a hike out to Alfred's beat-up pickup truck (which was rather far way, considering Alfred had walked around for quite a while in search of help). After much hard work, they had gotten Alfred's car fixed. Arthur had grudgingly promised to talk to Alfred in school the next day, and the sunny blonde teenager had finally drove off, having already dropped Arthur off at his father's large estate.

When Arthur returned, he saw his father's Bentley was in the driveway. As he stepped into the house, he noticed his father marveling at the mess he had left. The muddy shoe-prints on his Tunisian rug, the scuffs on the hardwood floor, the papers on the coffee table scattered around in every which direction, and a single sopping wet spot on his expensive (and completely white) couch.

"What on earth have you been up to, Arthur?" Mr. Kirkland asked.

Arthur just gave his father a small smile, and promised he would clean up as soon as possible.

Besides. He had a paper to write.

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><p><strong>AN: Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed. Remember, my first fanfic, so go easy on me!**

**Reviews amuse me. -WinkWinkWink-**

**~I. S. **


	2. Love

**A/N: Update~! Yes, I know, fast right? ;) I was going to wait until you guys supplied me with more reviews, simply to make you wait (because I'm cruel like that) but, as you know, with this 100 Fanfic thing it has to be updated once a day. So, here we are. Oneshot #2! Remember, these drabbles are not related in any way.**

**This is another AU. The prompt was Love. Sorry I didn't state their ages in this; I assume that when I wrote this I was thinking 20s. **

**But anyways, onto what this is actually about. This is what happens when you went Black Friday Shopping not too long ago. I already had this one written out, truthfully, and I'm working on #3 right now! ^^ Just letting you know, this is VERY sappy and very fluffy. You have been warned. **

**On another note, I've been considering continuing the first oneshot I started into a full fanfiction...but maybe not until I've finished with this fanfic challenge. I kind of like the idea though...**

**Anyways! Onward and outward!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia: Axis Powers, which also entails that I do not own the beautiful Arthur Kirkland or the heroic Alfred F. Jones. -TEAR- **

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><p>"Dear, I'd do a lot of things for you, but <em>this<em> is a little beyond my limit."

Alfred ignored the sardonic comment and flashed his grumbling British boyfriend a brilliant smile. As he spoke, his breath seemed to form visible clouds of fog that clung to the blistering November air, grasping onto gusts and torrents of wind that soon carried them away; new clouds beginning to form in their place. "Ah, lighten up, Art!" chimed the young American, who punched his boyfriend playfully on the shoulder. "You're such a spoilsport. This is totally fun!"

Arthur indignantly folded his arms across his chest and averted his gaze to the side, refusing to let the American catch sight of his suddenly flushed cheeks. (Al would only tease, no doubt.) Although the Brit would not like to admit it, the very luster of Alfred's charming smile seemed to fill him with warmth, as if Arthur had his own little personal sunshine hovering near him, spreading light upon his frail, shivering form.

"W-well _I'm_ certainly not having fun," Arthur snapped, his violent teeth chattering causing the slight stutter in his usually smooth, graceful speech. "It's bloody _f-freezing_ out h-here. How the hell can you e-endure it?"

There was a brief moment of silence, in which Arthur kept his gazed fixed solely on the solid black of his worn leather boots. He, rather childishly, refused to lay eyes on Alfred until the git apologized for dragging him out here against his own will.

And suddenly, Arthur found himself to be enveloped within warmth, the sun engulfing him in its solacing rays. It set the young Brit ablaze. Arthur's face flushed an even deeper red, the blush crawling up past his cheeks and reaching to lightly dust his ears. He began to let out a squawk of protest, but Alfred shushed him soothingly.

"Need me to warm ya up?" the American asked, hugging his furiously objecting lover closer to his chest. Finally, after many attempts of protests, Arthur gave in, reveling in the comforting warmth with no more than an exasperated sigh.

"You git," he murmured, though there was a slight undertone of affection to the insult. Alfred laughed- a beautiful, ringing sound that could be compared to the sheer exquisiteness of a symphony- and this softened the Brit's stubborn attitude even more. Arthur breathed in Alfred's scent, and it was like a harmony of smells; the crisp, salty brine of seawater, the cleansing scent of pine, the musk of a dank, wooden forest, the smell of sun baking pavement. He indulged himself in Alfred, drowning in the sunshiny American's very essence.

And he wouldn't rather be anywhere else.

Suddenly, he felt the arms around him fall from their comforting position. As quickly as it had come, the suns warming presence seemed to have left him, obscured by a mass of grey and sheeting rain. Arthur nearly let out a whimper at the loss of contact, but it wasn't lost for long. As compensation, Alfred intertwined his fingers with the Brit's, shooting him a compassionate smile, encompassing his small hand within the American's own firm grasp. Arthur felt the warmth spread from his fingertips to his body, shedding light upon him once more. He smiled sheepishly back.

"The store's gonna open soon!" Alfred exclaimed, revealing his obvious reason for releasing his hold on his lover. Arthur blinked for a moment, a bit disoriented, but finally seem to come to terms once again as to where they actually were.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Ah, yes. What you dragged me here for," he said, his tone regaining a bit of its usual irritation.

"Haha, yup! Have ya' really forgotten what we're here for, Art? It's Black Friday! The craziest day of the year!"

The Brit sighed in annoyance. "Which is precisely why we shouldn't be here. Speaking of which, of all places I would expect you to go on Black Friday, why in the ruddy hell are we at a _jewelry_ store?" Arthur inquired; quirking a large, bushy eyebrow in an inquisitive manner.

Alfred's smile broadened. "Dude! Didn't I already tell you? They have _bling_ here. Like, chains and stuff! It's totally awesome, yo! And fit for a hero, like me!" The American then proceeded to animatedly puff out his chest, adorning a ridiculous expression that Alfred had deemed his 'Hero Face'- although to Arthur it looked more like he was constipated.

Arthur scoffed. "Right, and you're making me wait out here in the freezing cold with you for _that?"_

The Brit's sunny boyfriend simply nodded. "Uh-huh! I mean I didn't wanna come alone, and I thought you would have fun!"

"Since when has waiting out here in the freezing cold become the definition of _fun_?"

"Since we were doing it together," supplied Alfred, voice as exuberant as ever. Arthur couldn't help but to let out an affectionate chuckle and squeeze Alfred's hand a little tighter.

"Well, at the very least, we are the first in line," sighed Arthur, gazing at the ornately decorated doors of the jewelry store before him.

"Yep, because my hero skills totally got us here!"

"Shut up, idiot."

Suddenly, the crowd seemed to fall into an anticipated silence. Arthur glanced over at Alfred's expression then, which seemed to be hard-set in a look of both excitement and determination. At first, the Englishman was confused, but as he caught onto the crowds excited murmurs he finally understood. The store was to open any minute now.

Arthur did not lunge like a lion waiting to pounce on his prey, nor did he feel the same excitement or eagerness that the other members of the crowd seemed to put off. No, he simply sighed for what seemed the thousandth time that night (or morning, since they had arrived at midnight and it seemed to have been a couple of hours by now), idly watching the fog of his breath as he inhaled and exhaled…

And much to Arthur's surprise, his peaceful state had suddenly been ruptured by a mixture of enthusiastic shouts and screams. He felt his arm being yanked violently, and all of a sudden he was being dragged into the store. Arthur tried to let out a rather undignified screech but it didn't have time to escape his lips as Alfred hurriedly navigated them through the chaos.

They were, as expected, the first into the store. After them, the others began to rush in, pushing and shoving barbarously, nearly trampling over themselves in a race to get the best deals.

Arthur clung so tightly to Alfred's hand that he imagined it was slightly painful for the sunny young American. Yet the Brit was deftly afraid that he would get trampled amongst the ravenous crowd. It was his first experience shopping on Black Friday, and so far, he wasn't enjoying it. Not at all.

"Alfred!" Arthur yelled, beginning to get highly frustrated with all of the hubbub. And over ridiculous _chains_ no less. Completely ungentlemanly. "_Alfred!"_

Finally, Alfred had found his way towards the 'bling', as he so charmingly called it. He stopped in his tracks, Arthur along with him, face lit up with excitement, gazing at the extensive array of chains, bling, and other assorted 'hero-like' jewelry on display. "Whoa," Alfred breathed, pressing his face up against the glass, much like a small child would at a zoo exhibit. "This. Is. _Awesome."_

Arthur huffed, absolutely infuriated by this point. "Bloody hell, Alfred! Without warning, you just yank me by my hand and drag me in here! That hurt you know, you bloomin' wanker! It is most certainly _not_ 'awesome'!"

"But _Arthur,_" the American protested, still gazing at the jewelry in complete wonderment. "They're on _sale."_

Arthur fumed. "Oh, for Christ's sake—,"

Alfred rolled his eyes and gave his boyfriend a rather adorable lopsided grin. "Well, if you really don't like it that much, there's a little area with couches and stuff over there." The American pointed to a small cluster of stuffy looking couches and leather armchairs in the corner of the store. "You can go sit down while I get my stuff. Then maybe we can check out a store you like!"

The Brit considered it for a moment. He would much rather just go home and go back to sleep, and considering that he had been the one who had driven there (when he was unaware of what Alfred was up to at the time; he would never willingly venture out to shop on Black Friday), he was liable to call the shots. However, after seeing the look of utter joy on Alfred's face upon entering the store, he thought it cruel to simply turn back home and crush the boy's convoluted little dreams. With a sigh, Arthur complied. "Alright. I'll be sitting over there. Don't pester me until you're done."

Alfred nearly jumped in all of his excitement. "Yay! Thanks, Art! I'll be done in a jiff, dontcha worry, and then we can shop around in other stores!"

Arthur just nodded, and then briskly turned on his heel to get situated in the seating area.

Once the Brit had finally settled himself in an old, worn leather armchair, he began flipping absently through a magazine he had found on the lavish Oakwood coffee table. Though it didn't seem to do a very good job at holding his attention. Instead, Arthur watched as Alfred talked animatedly to the cashier. She began suggesting some jewelry for him, "some of the most fashionable chains", Arthur had managed to make out, yet suddenly Alfred seemed to have said something, and the chipper girl's face fell into a look of understanding. Alfred gestured briefly over to the Brit sitting in the leather armchairs, whom then proceeded to flush deeply and avert his gaze hurriedly back down to his magazine. Neither Alfred nor the cashier, however, seemed to notice that Arthur had seen them.

_What on earth is Alfred up to?_

Arthur tried to quell his haunting skepticism by focusing solely on the magazine, but found it rather difficult. He sat there for what seemed like hours in silent anticipation, wanting desperately to get out of the shouting and the chaos; the scramble for the bargain jewelry. However, Alfred seemed to be biding his time, which only infuriated the Englishman further.

Then finally, after what seemed an eternity, Alfred strode back over towards his lover, looking thoroughly accomplished. Which was strange, because he didn't seem to have any of his precious 'bling' in his hands, nor was he wearing any.

"Alfred, did you even _get_ anything?"

"Nah," said Alfred nonchalantly, dismissing the notion with a quick wave of his hand. "None of it was heroic enough! I guess I'm just too good for the bling."

That was when Arthur nearly exploded. He was tired, hungry, and angry. He had had enough.

"Alfred F. Jones, you insufferable git!" he screeched, beyond angry by now. Arthur once again folded his arms across his chest, keeping his gaze focused on the other shoppers and refusing to look at his stupid, idiotic, and agonizingly _dense_ boyfriend…. "I cannot believe you! You drag me all the way out in the freezing cold, make me wait for _hours_- and I nearly began to suffer from hypothermia, mind you!- , then yank me into this store without any regard for how _I've_ felt about it this whole time- all for nothing! Ugh, you-you bloody wanker!"

"Arthur. Dude calm down. It's cool. Just look at me."

The American's voice was surprisingly calm and placating, compared to Arthur's own enraged tone. For some reason, it irked Arthur even further that Alfred could be so casual about it, and completely disregard what he was saying.

"No! I will not! You don't deserve it! And don't you ignore what I said, you big oaf! You can't just go about changing the subject like that! Face your problems like a real man!" Arthur rambled, still not daring to let his gaze drift to the sunny American.

Alfred sighed. "_Arthur."_

"For the love of bloody Christ! _What is it you are so insistent upon?"_

The blonde paused, and then spoke, very gently. _"Look at me."_

With great reluctance, Arthur pried his gaze from the exuberant shoppers and followed his boyfriend's instructions, finally letting his eyes fall upon Alfred.

He was pretty sure he had some sort of snappy retort planned, but it became completely lost as he saw the shocking sight before him. His breath nearly caught in his throat.

"A-Alfred…I-,"

"Shh," Alfred crooned gently, shooting the Brit his dazzling, trademark smile. "Just let me talk, kay?"

Arthur didn't say anything, he couldn't. He was too taken aback by the sight before him. There Alfred was, as beautiful and glorious as ever, deep orbs of sapphire glittering behind square-framed glasses, golden locks- like amber waves of grain- falling effortlessly into place, blindingly white teeth spread into an infectious smile. But…he was down on one _knee—_and in his hand-

The Brit simply gazed in awe, enchanting emerald green eyes unable to leave the American's own startlingingly blue ones.

"Look, Arthur," Alfred began, voice completely confident. "I've never been too good with words, y'know? So I don't know if there's any possible way I could begin to describe how much I love ya'."

Arthur's jaw nearly dropped to the floor.

"I still find it a miracle that you've stuck by my side for so long. I mean most people wouldn't have. But you're always there, every time I turn around and expect you not to be. Even when everyone else runs away. No matter how annoying or 'insufferable' I get, I've never once seen you leave my side. And that already means more than I can ever say. So…thanks. Thanks a lot for that."

Neither of the two noticed, but all other action in the jewelry store seemed to have seized. All focus was on the beautifully romantic scene that seemed to be unfolding before the shopper's eyes.

Alfred continued. "And hell, if that already weren't enough…Well, you're _you_, Artie. I love the way you read to me at night. I love the way you're hopeless in the kitchen and your food is really disgusting. I love the way your eyebrows kinda mush together when you get mad, and I love how you always yell at me, and when I can know that it's not because you're all mad at me but really because you want me to do what's best. You're stubborn, you say funny words that I don't understand, and you're always calling me an idiot-," Arthur nearly got angry at that last part- "But I wouldn't have you any other way."

"Anyways, I think I'm getting' a little carried away here, dude….What I'm tryin' to say Arthur, is that I love you …so much, and…I could spend forever listing the ways….So I just want to ask you….A-Arthur Kirkland…"

That's it. There were definitely tears forming in Arthur's eyes now.

"…Will you give me that forever? Will you let me show you how much I love you? Will…will you marry me?"

There was a deft silence that followed. All of the patrons in the store looked expectantly towards Arthur, waiting on the edge of their seats (not literally, of course) for his answer. Yet the Brit didn't answer right away. He was still completely taken aback by the utter gloriousness of the moment, wanting to let it sink in and last forever. He savored everything; Alfred's sweet, yet gentle smile, the slight glossy look in his eyes, as if he, too, was about to begin weeping in sheer joy, the glittering emerald ring that sat in the center of its velvet casing, and Alfred's _words._ God, he never wanted to forget…Hardly ever did the Brit get emotional, but he figured if any, now was the time to do so.

"Alfred, you big, insufferable, American oaf," Arthur whispered, voice filled with affection. "Yes. _Yes._ God, Alfred, I'll…I'll marry you. Yes."

Alfred's smile broadened so fully that it was nearly blinding. He suddenly jumped up then and pulled Arthur to his feet, smashing his lips to the other's in a passionate kiss. Arthur immediately complied, wrapping his arms around the American's neck, feeling his broad, muscular shoulders, and then later moving his hands up to tangle in Alfred's absolutely perfect golden locks of hair. It was so soft that it slipped like warm butter through his fingers as he combed through it. The mass of people around them was admitting hollers of approval and cries of joy, but the two didn't seem to notice. Arthur was once again engulfed within the sun's comforting warmth, and God, he never wanted it to go away.

Unwillingly, Alfred broke the kiss, and brought Arthur's hand to the forefront of his attention. With a comforting smile, and shaky fingers, he slipped the twinkling emerald onto the Brit's ring finger. Arthur marveled at the ring- a clean cut emerald in the center of a simple golden band. It was magnificent in its simplicity, and Arthur's heart swelled in his chest.

"It's beautiful…" Arthur murmured wondrously.

Alfred reached up to lovingly brush a sandy golden lock of hair out of his boyfriend's face. "It's just like your eyes…."

Arthur smiled.

"And….it was on sale!"

His smile broadened.

"You're a bloody prat, you know that?"

"I know!"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: ALFRED BE TOO GOOD FOR DA BLING.**

**Yeah, yeah, sappy and fluffy beyond belief. So sue me. xD**

**Hope you enjoyed~! Thanks for reading.**

**As I said, I greatly enjoy reviews. **

**~I.S.**


	3. Light

**A/N: YES. CHAPTER 3 IS HERE. WOOT~!**

**Prompt was Light! :3**

**Sorry it took longer than usual to post, but I was struggling with this prompt. I'm still not too pleased with how it came out, but eh, a one-shot is a one-shot. It's sort of like a little...snapshot type thing I suppose. Just a big fat piece of fluff flitting around on this a'here website. I apologize that it's so short, too...**

**Why do I love comparing things to nature so much? And fluff? I don't know. It's just so tempting, god damnit. However, I have a lot more in store for the oncoming stories! Be expecting some angst in the next one, for sure. ;)**

**Anyways, I'll start wrapping this up so you can get on with this and actually read the freakin' one-shot, but I have one more thing to say. I'd like to thank all of those who have reviewed, favorited, or simply read. I really appreciate it! And a special thanks to my fellow Hetali-Tard Fumizuki Hazuki for betaing this! x3**

**Disclaimer: I own ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING-No. The only thing I own is an ever-growing addiction to these two lovely lovely boys. GAH. **

**Well. You better prepare yourself for some serious fluff. Because 99% of that shitstorm is coming right at you. -shot-**

* * *

><p>"<em>Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?<em>

_Thou art more lovely and more temperate: _

_Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, _

_And summer's lease hath all too short a date…"_

* * *

><p>Alfred sighed contentedly and nuzzled his face deeper into his British boyfriend's side.<p>

Once again, it was raining outside, but it wasn't a harsh sort of rain that rattled the frames of Arthur's antique windows and pounded so harshly against the Earth's surface that it was like a symphony of war drums, signaling the oncoming of a catastrophic ambush of thunder and lightning. No, this rain was the pleasant and peaceful sort of rain, the kind which would splatter gently against the palms of Alfred's outstretched hands if he were to strut openly out into the damp atmosphere; the sort of rain that would softly drum against the windowpane. The quiet, soothing noise could very easily lull Alfred into a deep and dreamless slumber.

Truthfully, the rain hadn't always been Alfred's sort of weather. The young American teenager loved the days when the sun was at its brightest, so he could indulge in its smoldering warmth. It was as if the sun's fiery rays were palpable, and seemed to brighten the moods of all the people it encompassed within its warm presence. This included Alfred (although even without the blindingly bright company of the sun, he was still as cheerful as ever), and all of the people he held dearest to his heart. Even Arthur, although the American knew that his older, more sophisticated British boyfriend enjoyed rainy days the best.

Yet that was exactly it. Even though Alfred adored those dazzlingly sunny days, he had started to become quite partial to the rain as well. At first, of course, the teenager had resented the rain, since it obscured his view from the blazing ball of warmth he so unduly cherished. But ever since he had met Arthur, rainy days seemed to have become a sort of comfort. With the rain came fond memories of the very Brit- of every moment they had spent together. The mere concept of rain itself seemed to embody Arthur. Not just because it was the Briton's favorite weather, but also because the scent always lingered on Arthur's clothing, almost as if it had become of a part of his very essence (and Alfred was quite convinced that it had). It was days like these that reminded him of Arthur; that were a solacing comfort when the Brit was not around to blush furiously and call Alfred a git like he always did. And the fact that Arthur was _here_ right now, so Alfred could lean into him and breathe in his scent- the familiar smell of rain, the soft, fragrant smell of roses, the withered, yet timeless aroma of an old book as its spine cracked gently open- only doubled the feeling of sheer bliss that seemed to course through his veins.

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><p>"<em>Sometimes too hot the eye of heaven shines,<em>

_And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;_

_And every fair from fair sometime declines,_

_By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimm'd…"_

* * *

><p>Alfred listened quietly as the Brit recited a poem by a British author that he was very fond of (no surprise there). The American closed his eyes in contentment, a gentle grin playing at the corners of his lips. He could sit here forever and listen to Arthur's beautiful, lilting British accent, watch his perfectly soft, pale lips form the words that seemed to fall from them like magic; see the soft, tender look in those enchanting emerald greens orbs. Alfred felt a pair of gentle hands toying with his locks of sunny blonde hair, and he opened his eyes to see Arthur, looking absolutely glorious as he read from an old, leather-bound compilation of famous poems, playing idly with the American's hair.<p>

The sunny blonde's smile broadened even further. Arthur was so lovely; his sandy golden hair falling perfectly into place, his lips spreading into one of his rare, yet completely genuine smiles as he spoke. The Brit's eyes looked purely bewitching in the dim lamplight, startling emerald green alight with compassion as he continued to read. Alfred's heart swelled in his chest. God, he loved Arthur. He loved Arthur so much.

_It's funny_, thought the young American as he listened. _Even though the rain reminds me of Arthur…he also reminds me of the sun, too…._

And it was true, because even though Alfred always associated his beautiful Brit with these types of rainy days, there was something about Arthur that reminded him of the sun, as well. The sun had always made Alfred feel so happy and carefree, and the young Brit seemed to have the same affect on him. When around Arthur, Alfred felt so much better than he had ever felt- it was almost a feeling he couldn't describe. But he was always so undeniably happy and comforted and he felt so loved, even though Arthur was stubborn about their relationship most of the time. Yet …it was different too. Arthur had the ability to calm the usually eccentric young American as well, and that was something that not a lot of people could do. Alfred was an exuberant person by nature, but Arthur's calming presence seemed to rein it in a little. It helped Alfred to stop, look around him, and appreciate life. Arthur was his calming rain and yet his undying light that would never seize to fill him with pure bliss.

The light of his very life.

The young American once again closed his eyes as he snuggled closer into Arthur's side. He felt a single arm wrap comfortingly around him and pull him ever closer.

* * *

><p><em>"But thy eternal summer shall not fade,<em>

_Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest,_

_Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,_

_When in eternal lines to time thou growest;_

_So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,_

_So long lives this, and this gives life to thee."_

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><p>As Arthur brought the poem to a close, he shut the book gently, setting it on the side table next to the little loveseat they were curled up on. Nothing was said for several moments, but that was just fine with the both of them. They simply listened to each other's breathing, felt the gentle rise and fall of each other's chests. It was Heaven just to sit there and be swaddled in each other's warmth, to be there with each other.<p>

It was Alfred who first broke the comforting silence. "Hey, Arthur?"

Arthur was still smiling his gentle, loving smile, and he now had both of his arms wrapped around the sunny blonde. The Brit shifted his gaze to look at the American then, whose blue, blue eyes were trained on him as well. The American's expression was soft and full of so much love that it already had Arthur blushing.

"You're beautiful."

This time Arthur flushed completely, eyes widening to the size of saucer-plates. Alfred found the Brit's embarrassment adorably endearing, and he chuckled softly. "W-Well…I—I mean…Shut up-"

The American cupped a tomato red cheek gently in one of his hands. So warm. His little light. "Yeah, yeah. I know what you're gonna say. _Shut up, you git, what the bloody hell are you talking about?" _Arthur looked absolutely disgusted at the American's attempt at a British accent. He grimaced, but Alfred just laughed and continued on with his lighthearted teasing. "Took the words right outta your mouth, didn't I~?"

The Brit huffed, though his grip on Alfred never loosened.

Arthur didn't reply, but Alfred was completely fine with that. His little ball of light and warmth and sunshine and rain and everything else Alfred cherished was here with him, and that was all that mattered.

Because Arthur was all of the things Alfred loved- his brightly glowing sun, his encompassing blue sky; yet he was also the soft patter of rain and the scent of it lingering on the pavement. He was everything the American ever loved, and he was all Alfred would ever love. He was _Arthur._ The light of his very life.

He wasn't ever going to let that light go.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I _told_ you it was the shortest, fluffiest thing I've ever written in my life. I apologize for the overwhelming amounts of fangirl oozing out of my very being, but hell these two are just too cute. I had to do this.**

**Yes. Arthur is reading Shakespeare to Alfred, who has absolutely no clue what any of it means, but listens anyways. Pfft.**

**Well. Hope you've enjoyed being bombarded by that shitstorm. My work is done here. -Flee-**

**Oh wait. One more thing.**

**Review please~? ;3 **

**~I.S. **


	4. War

**A/N: -COUGH- CAN SOMEBODY SAY ANGST? -COUGH- **

**OH LOOKIE HERE! I'VE UPDATED! AND GUESS WHAT ELSE? IT'S NOT AU. AND GUESS WHAT ELSE? IT'S NOT IN THIRD PERSON. AND GUESS WHAT ELSE? IT'S A SONGFIC. **

**I am just full of surprises aren't I?**

**The prompt was War!**

**Well, this is from Alfred's POV. Is our little Alfie having some doubts whilst in that last fateful battle? You better believe it. This can be seen as either a reference to a more brotherly relationship between them, or the usual ever-so-loved RELATIONSHIP RELATIONSHIP. - I prefer the latter.**

**Well, enjoy your good dose of angst for the day. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia:Axis Powers, nor do I own the song Cat's in the Cradle by Harry Chapin. (IS THAT WITH ONE P OR TWO Ps? Oh well.)**

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><p>We've hidden from taxes for so long. Avoided them, boycotted them, and protested so fiercely against them that we achieved repeal. But some taxes we can't run away from. Sometimes, we don't have the option to protest. Sometimes you just can't fight back.<p>

* * *

><p><em><strong>{<strong>My child arrived just the other day_

_He came to the world in the usual way_

_But there were planes to catch, and bills to pay_

_He learned to walk while I was away_

_And he was talking 'fore I knew it, and as he grew_

_He said I'm gonna be like you Dad_

_You know I'm gonna be like you**}**_

* * *

><p>I think I've forgotten the reason I began this chaos in the first place.<p>

What is the point? Freedom? Independence? Those words seem to have suddenly been leeched of their meaning.

My heart has lost its patriotic drive. At this moment, I've forgotten how hard I've strived to be free; absent of the dedication and pride I once held. My heart no longer belongs to this country.

At this moment, it belongs to you.

* * *

><p><em><strong>{<strong>And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon_

_Little boy blue and the man in the moon_

_When you coming home Dad I don't know when_

_But we'll get together then_

_You know we'll have a good time then**}**_

* * *

><p>What does it mean to be free? To be able to conduct things as you please? To be able to become your own person? What if I don't want that anymore? What if I no longer want that independence, that stressful responsibility? What if I just want…you?<p>

You. Suddenly, I want things to be as they were so many years ago. I want to be able to laugh again, to be a small, innocent child once more; running into your lovingly outstretched arms.

I want to sit by the hearth and listen to you tell great tales of your success and your greatness.

"_One day you'll grow up and we can be great together,"_ you would say, your blindingly white teeth spread into a warm smile. _"You won't leave me, will you, Alfred?" _

I want to nod my head, a jubilant smile adorning my face. I want to intertwine my fingers with yours, feeling your comforting hand around mine. I want to feel how I felt then- contented, blissful, and safe. I want to go back to that day, to exclaim, _"I'd never leave you, Arthur!" _again.

I want to take you up on that offer again. I want to be by your side again.

But I've made a mistake.

* * *

><p><em><strong>{<strong>My son turned ten just the other day_

_He said 'Thanks for the ball Dad, come on, let's play!_

_Can you teach me to throw?' I said, 'Not today,_

_I've got a lot to do'_

_He said, 'That's okay'_

_And he,_

_Walked away but he smiled as he did and said, 'I'm gonna be like him, yeah_

_You know I'm gonna be like him'**}**_

* * *

><p>I remember when I used to think you could do anything. I remember how desperately I wished to be like you when I grew older, how much I admired you. You were the one I held with the highest reverence. You were the only companion I had, my brother, my father.<p>

My love.

Why did I want to become discorded? Why did I want to break away from that? I can't remember any longer. Ignorance. Stupidity. Maybe that's my fatal flaw. The reason I had oh so eagerly jumped into battle.

I don't want it anymore.

* * *

><p><em><strong>{<strong>And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon_

_Little boy blue and the man in the moon_

_When you coming home Dad I don't know when_

_But we'll get together then_

_You know we'll have a good time then**}**_

* * *

><p>I still want it back.<p>

I want to hear you sing- soft and calming- into my ear, your beautiful voice quickly lulling me into a deep, dreamless slumber. I want to see you again- not as you are now; weak, vulnerable, feeble. No, I want to see you strong as you used to be, standing proudly against a bold flag of brilliant red, white, and blue.

Funny. Those are my flag's colors too.

I want to see those soft, flaxen locks of gold hanging haphazardly in your face, slightly obscuring my vision from those eyes. Your eyes. Green, a deep, breathtaking emerald green. Like an Irish meadow, they were. So beautiful in their gentility yet striking in pallor. I don't want to see tears in those eyes, the sorrow of such a sight. I want to see that look you used to get. Daunting, playful, yet undoubtedly strong and so very proud. And there was always a hint of compassion when you'd look at me. Only at me.

It's remarkable how that glimmer of adoration still remains.

* * *

><p><em><strong>{<strong>Well, he came home from college just the other day_

_So much like a man I just had to say_

'_Son, I'm proud of you, can you sit for a while?'_

_He shook his head and he said with a smile_

'_What I'd really like, Dad, is to borrow the car keys_

_See you later, can I have them please?'**}**_

* * *

><p>Now here we are on this fateful October night.<p>

A flash of red within the storm. A diamond in the rough. One last British soldier remains.

You.

You've lost your bravery, lost your integrity. Lost everything. Yet you refuse to give in, hiding your desperation and tears behind a loaded barrel.

But I know you won't shoot. You can't.

That one little unknown soldier, that's all who's left. You're clinging desperately to your weapon as if it's your anchor, the one solitary thing that keeps you from falling so far away from this world.

What will happen if you let go? I have no inclination to know.

If you fall I can't catch you.

If you break I can't fix you.

I've sunken too far deep into my selfishness, my need for freedom. There is no point of return. No matter how badly I want to drop my stance, run and comfort you, forget about everything and become your little brother again, I simply can't.

I used to think anything was worth it to sustain freedom, to become independent. _No matter the cost_, I used to believe.

But I now realize how heavy the price is.

That beautiful, pale exterior of yours, it's so tantalizingly breakable. So fragile you are now. In your haste, your trembling hands falter, and your bayonet grazes across your insipid form. You wince as vermilion rubies spill from the wound; dancing across your porcelain skin, mocking you.

_Weak._ They chime. _You are weak._

Yet you stand your ground.

* * *

><p><em><strong>{<strong>And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon_

_Little boy blue and the man in the moon_

_When you coming home, son, I don't know when_

_But we'll get together then, Dad_

_You know we'll have a good time then**}**_

* * *

><p>The scent of rain is fresh in the air.<p>

I always hated how you taxed me, how you acted so harshly against me; how you controlled me, pretended I was not there. You thought you could just use me as your tool, as your plaything. I've always hated that. But I haven't seen reason very clearly lately.

You just wanted what was best for me. You were a bit misguided, but your intentions were pure. You just wanted me to become a strong nation. You didn't want to lose me. You wanted to get involved in my life.

I wish I would've seen that earlier. But now it's too late.

* * *

><p><em><strong>{<strong>I've long since retired, my son's moved away_

_I called him up just the other day_

_I said, 'I'd like to see you if you don't mind'_

_He said, 'I'd love to, Dad, if I could find the time_

_You see my new job's a hassle and kids have the flu_

_But it's sure nice talking to you, Dad_

_It's been sure nice talking to you'**}**_

* * *

><p>What price is success?<p>

Before my eyes, I see it now.

Your pride. Your dignity. Your honor. Your _heart._

If I am to win this freedom, to defeat you in this battle, then it will take a painful toll upon your heart. Forever scarred, because you've lost me. Despondence is the only emotion that will loom over you- like a cloud forever raining its dismal, depressing droplets upon you. You can never be whole again, not after this.

Am I willing to pay this price?

I falter.

No…I'm not.

I don't want to hurt you- I never wanted to. I've been foolish, thinking only of myself, unable to see past the haze of my resentment to the real truth. You loved me, you always have.

But I didn't see that. So I began to break away.

I'm sorry; I don't want this now, not anymore. But only now have I realized this. And now, it's much too late to go back. I have to pay this price.

This tax. This tax upon the heart.

Taxes. They always come back to haunt me.

* * *

><p><em><strong>{<strong>And as I hung up the phone it occurred to me_

_He'd grown up just like me_

_My boy was just like me**}**_

* * *

><p>The guilt I feel, the remorse, it cannot be expressed simply through words.<p>

I'm sorry.

Mesmerizing green is tainted with a thousand unspoken words of fear, grief, and regret. Bitterly, you grit your teeth together, tears clouding your vision, musket trembling within your faltering grip. You're shaking now, I can see it.

No matter how hard you try, you do not look intimidating. But if there were a contest for giving such heartbreaking looks, you would win first prize.

I don't want this anymore, I sincerely don't. I can't take this, seeing you look at me that way. I can see how badly you, too, want just for a moment, for things to be back to the way they once were. For one, simple minute, I shoot you the same look. The world seems to come to a blur around me. All I can see is you, looking so mournful, so hopeless.

I'm sorry.

"_This isn't worth it, it's not!" _I want to scream. I want to throw my musket to the ground, and weep. I just want to forget about everything.

For the first time in my life, I want to give up.

_You can't._ That nagging voice in the back of my head says. _It's too late. _

It's too late.

Your last spark of hope flickers. The flame of strength, your perseverance and your courage, it's dying out. In mere seconds, it will be no more. Soon, this will all be over.

And at that moment, it finally hits you. You have nothing left. You can't win.

_Nothing. You have nothing._

One word escapes your lips then; one last desperate plea. I close my eyes, in a despairing attempt to block the sudden flood of tears that threaten to escape.

"_Alfred…." _

I stifle a sob, grip on my musket faltering.

I don't want this.

Suddenly, your musket- your anchor- clatters to the ground. And you sink. You careen into the bottomless depths of desolation, the pure, frightening darkness suffocating the only spark of hope you've clung to for so long. There's nothing holding you to this world anymore. Nothing.

You sit there in all of your fragility, so small, and so helpless. Your frail form convulses and heaves with the sobs you can no longer bear to contain, head cradled in your hands, your dampened locks of gold clenched tightly in your fists.

"_Why…damnit why?" _

I know you're hoping I won't see those tears but I do.

You've lost. You've lost me.

No. _I've_ lost _you._

The mass of army behind me is emitting hollers of approval and cries of joy. They yell at you; belittle you, defile you, yet you just sit there and you cry. You don't care about them anymore- their crude comments do not hurt you. They do not realize that you're more than just easy to break.

You're already broken.

"_You know why." _

I keep up my facade of strength and perseverance; don't let my true emotions slip through the cracks of my unwavering mask. You cannot know that I, too, am breaking. You cannot know that I regret my decisions. For now, as I have already realized, it's too late to go back. If I dissolve into nothing but a quivering ball of tears, it won't help you. It won't help _us._

But I still don't want this.

All you had ever wanted was to keep me close, but I had pushed you away. You had fought so fiercely, so strongly, because you didn't want to lose me. I don't…I don't want this.

Yet it's too late. I've already won it.

* * *

><p><em><strong>{<strong>And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon_

_Little boy blue and the man in the moon_

_When you coming home, Son, I don't know when_

_But we'll get together then_

_We're gonna have a good time then**}**_

* * *

><p><strong>AN: WEIRD FORMATTING IS WEIRD ON PURPOSE.**

**It just looks so badass. **

**Anyways, yeah. Hope you enjoyed that~.**

**I like reviews. -Hint hint-**

**~I.S.**


	5. Hero

**A/N: OH MY GAWD I AM SO SOORRRRRRRRRRRY. ;_; **

**FORGIVE ME AND MY DUMB FACE! **

**I've been really busy with school and all of those other dumb excuses, and I've been sick for a long time...Still recovering. BUT. I finally got this done. I started about 4 other fanfics before I finally came up with this one. I'm...not too pleased with it, but it needed to get done. I really didn't know how to end it. Eh. I'M SORRY. **

**So...yeah. Not originally what I thought it was going to be but...here it is. **

**Prompt was Hero. Be prepared for angst, because it's coming right at ya. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia Axis Powers. 'Nuff said.**

**P.S- THIS IS IMPORTANT. I highly suggest you listen to the song Superman by Five For Fighting as you read this. Put it on repeat or something (its short). It was the inspiration for this fic (NOTE- ALFRED DID NOT LITERALLY WRITE THE SONG IN HERE AHEM FIVE FOR FIGHTING DID DUH) and...yeah. So listen to it. Yes. Do that. Goodbye now. Go read. **

* * *

><p><strong>[S u p e r m a n]<strong>

* * *

><p>It wasn't the first time that England had pointed out America's horrid manners to the younger boy. No, in fact, it had probably been- at least- the tenth time that night.<p>

Though, admittedly, the older nation didn't necessarily have much of a chance to confront the other about it, because that very young, incredibly stupid nation in question was holed up in his office, refusing to emerge from the room or let England in. England had, of course, grumbled his protests but it did no good. Alfred was diligently working on _something_ or doing …._something,_ and was apparently not going to stop until he was finished.

Sure, maybe it wouldn't have been that bad….It was a miracle that America was finally putting actual _effort_ into something, as it seemed. Perhaps he was just submerged within his work (which, being a nation, it wouldn't be that much of surprise if he was) and for once, had decided to act upon it and complete it. However, if so, why would he have invited the Brit over? Of course, it was per norm for them to have one of them stay at the other's house during the durations of their trips for World Meetings (whoever's house it would be depending on where the meeting was held). But England could've very well stayed somewhere else if _this_ was how he was going to be treated. If America had so much work to do, why invite him to stay? It wasn't very considerate of him to just ignore the Brit completely and lock himself in his study. Completely ungentlemanly, it was, really, ignoring his own lover…

Then again, the older nation could understand. He had been overloaded and burdened with work many times before, and surely he had sometimes wanted a comforting presence within his home, perhaps even just in the other room, if only to lift some of the stress he had been feeling….right? Arthur let out an indignant huff and took another sip of his tea (which he had brought from home, because the only options for tea America had were…._instant tea bags. _England shuddered). Maybe so, but still, it _was_ quite rude….

Then again….the elder nation's mouth fell into a displeased little frown. America _had_ been working himself to the bone lately, struggling to piece together his crumbling economy and reassure his people all at once. England knew what it was like to lose himself like that, knew how it felt to slowly deteriorate from a position of power. Surely, he could cut the young nation a little slack….Because that was precisely it. America was young, and still so new to all the tragedies and hardships he faced.

England's brow furrowed. Well, America had been the one to ask for independence. He always said he could handle things on his own. Maybe, despite his young age, it was time he proved himself.

Suddenly, England heard the brisk click of a door opening and closing, the muted thud of boots as they traipsed across the poorly carpeted floor. And then, the older nation heard his voice.

"Hey, England!"

America unexpectedly bounded over to said older nation, lips spread into his trademark, cheery smile. He slid his arm expertly around the other nation's waist and yanked England towards him; so close that it would seem the two were attached at the hip.

England spluttered and flailed, trying to get away from the larger man's iron-clad grip, but to no avail. Finally, with a sigh, he gave in and let the younger nation drag him out of the hallway and into the living room, where he then plopped them down rather unceremoniously onto the American's tattered sofa (which was littered with all kinds of wrappers from McDonalds, Burger King….and all of those other disgusting restaurants America so enjoyed).

"Fobbish twit," sneered England. "Don't just manhandle me like that!" The finicky little nation then proceeded to dust himself off, straightening his tie and fidgeting with a few locks of sandy golden hair that had gone astray. America laughed that obnoxious, raucous laugh of his and ruffled the other's hair again, making England's earlier attempts to tidy it futile.

"Ah, lighten up old man! Besides, I finally finished with my work, so we can totally go and do something fun now!" chimed America, deep orbs of azure- like little bits of brilliant blue sky, captured into one penetrating gaze- glinting with their usual abundance of life and happiness. England allowed himself a small smile before returning to his usual scowl.

"Well it just about took you long enough," he remarked, taking a brief moment to sip at his cup of tea once more. "How have things been for you lately, anyways?"

England didn't notice the other's smile shrink by a couple of molars.

America dismissed the notion with a quick wave of his hand and a nervous laugh- though England also didn't notice the slight undertone of anxiety to that very laugh. "Ah, you know, how it's always been! Boring and stuff, but it's all good!" he exclaimed, shooting the older nation a halfhearted, slightly lopsided grin. "Now why don't we talk about something less boring, Ig?"

The older nation winced at the pet name. "I thought I told you to refrain from calling me that," he chastised, setting his tea cup and saucer down onto Alfred's transparent glass coffee table.

America shrugged and slapped England on the back a bit too forcefully- though to the young nation it was probably as light as he could manage- causing the other to yelp in surprise, face falling into an even more deep-set frown. "Yeah, sure, whatever Iggy. Now, let's do something totally awesome!"

England grumbled something along the lines of _'bloody git'_ …or something else like that and shot the young American a glare, with emerald green eyes that seemed to bore into the other's very soul. Well at least that's what the elder hoped it did.

However, America just thought it was cute. He chuckled quietly and snuggled into the Brit's side, whom blushed furiously, but did not protest against the action. "Come on. Let's go somewhere," said the nation, whose voice had grown considerably more soft and compassionate. The Brit rolled his eyes and stroked the American's hair affectionately. America really was an idiot….A cute idiot. A sweet, beautiful, cheerful, and adorably compassionate idiot…

The sandy blonde gave in with another exasperated sigh. "Very well, Alfred. Where would you like to go?" he asked, although England already knew what America would say.

America, however, didn't jump up and exclaim 'McDonalds' or 'Burger King' as he was expecting him to. Instead, the sunny blonde nation looked thoughtful, biting his lip a little in concentration. England could not begin to fathom what the blonde nation was planning, nor did he have any inclination to know. Whatever it was, it had to be some sort of extravagant, dangerous adventure that the Brit was simply not in the mood for—

"Let's just go for a walk."

England blinked and raised his large, bushy eyebrow in surprise. The statement had caught the older nation a bit off guard. Usually, America would either suggest something a lot less simple, or some sort of foul restaurant that England certainly did not want to go to. This, however was different.

And it almost sounded sort of….nice.

"…Are you sure, love?" inquired the startled Brit, looking up inquisitively at his boyfriend (who by this point had removed his face from snuggling into England's side and was gazing down upon him with a ghost of a smile playing at his lips).

"Yeah! It's almost sunset, right? Why don't we go down to the beach! I've always wanted to walk on the beach during sunset…withyou."

England lips spread into a small, fond smile and he ruffled the American's hair happily. "That sounds marvelous, poppet. I'd love to see the sunset on the beach with you."

America visibly brightened, his smile regaining a bit of the luster it had lost not too long ago. (Wait…now that England thought about it…._had_ America actually looked…edgy…for a minute there?) He bounded up out of his seat, releasing his grip on his lover as he did so, and beamed ecstatically at the older nation. "Great!" he enthused. "Are ya ready to go now? Come on, let's go!" America then reached out and took England's hand, simultaneously yanking him off of the couch so that they were both standing next to each other.

"Well hold on!" reprimanded England, who recoiled from the American's touch to dust himself off once again. "I have to get ready first! You might've had the chance to change, but I'm still in my suit from the meeting!"

The younger nation blinked. "Oh yeah! Well uh…go ahead…Take your time! I'll just ur…wait out here! Oh oh! Maybe I'll pack a picnic! DUDE THAT'D BE SO COOL."

England's expression softened a little. "That…that sounds wonderful, Alfred."

"YEAH. WITH TONS OF BURGERS."

And then he wrinkled his nose in disgust. "If you're going to pack a picnic, please, put something a little more appealing than those disgusting _burgers_ in there," England said.

America laughed and clapped England firmly on the shoulder. "Ah, don't worry, Iggy. I've got it taken care of….Now go get ready so we can go soon!"

The older nation shook off the firm hand clasped onto his shoulder and gave the American a small grin before turning around and heading towards their room to change. Though he didn't exactly trust the American to shove nothing but burgers into the picnic basket, he had to start getting ready soon, or Alfred would begin to get so anxious that he would start bouncing off of the walls. ….Literally. He could do that.

As England walked away, he didn't notice the slight falter in the America's step, didn't notice the small frown that tugged at his lips once the older nation's back was turned. He didn't notice the way Alfred had been nervously wringing his hands the whole time he had been speaking to the other (except for when he was 'manhandling' England).

Nor did England notice the little melody America had begun to hum under his breath. And by the time America's humming had morphed into soft, quiet singing- his pale lips forming the words that he inevitably knew by heart- England was already long gone down the hallway.

* * *

><p><strong>[S u p e r m a n]<strong>

* * *

><p>England felt slightly guilty about what he was doing. But his curiosity had quickly overridden that guilt as he crept silently into America's office, checking to make sure that the young nation hadn't seen him slip in as he shut the door noiselessly behind him.<p>

Why was he so curious? England was still wondering about that himself (though wondering about one's own curiosity was a little redundant, wasn't it?). He just…he wanted to know what America had been locked up in his office working on so meticulously earlier. England suspected it was most likely America's work, but even if that were the case, what kind of work, exactly, required America to work so _much_? The older nation just wanted to check…Briefly glance at some of his papers, maybe, that was all…

The Brit tiptoed over to America's desk then, that was pushed against the south wall of the room, littered with thousands of papers and countless ball point pens and broken pencils. When he had finally reached the desk, England began shuffling through the papers, trying not to do so too loudly, so as not to tip the American off as to what he was doing….

Huh….nothing too interesting yet. Some sort of documents, monotonous paperwork, all of those kinds of boring things….But there was a _lot_ of it; all regarding different issues and complications. America was literally swamped with work wasn't he?

Then, much to the Brit's surprise, peeking out from beneath all of the usual tedious documents and manuscripts, was a….poem.

A poem. Of all things.

England snatched up the poem hastily, practically burning with curiosity by this point. First of all, because Alfred had actually written a _poem_, and second, because he was interested in what exactly the poem could be _about_.

Though when the elder nation picked up what he believed to have been one paper, he noticed that there were several more papers stapled to it. With brow furrowed, he flipped through the papers- not paying much mind to the poem itself yet; wanting more to see how all of the pages corresponded to each other first.

Past two pages of America's poem was sheet music. At least four to five pages of sheet music. It looked as if it was written for piano, but there were alternate measures written for guitar as well. With a jolt, England realized that it hadn't been a poem America had written….but a _song_.

Well. That was….curious. What on Earth could it be about? He briefly wondered if it was that one ridiculous song he had heard the energetic American sing before….Something along the lines of 'America, fuck yeah!'….was it? Git. England would not be surprised if that were the case.

But as England finally looked down upon the paper to read the lyrics thoroughly, he realized how wrong he was.

His eyes skimmed the lyrics in both incredulity and disbelief, emerald orbs widening considerably large with slight concern as they darted back and forth; reading the lyrics. No….Had America really written this?

England read the sheet about four times. His heart constricted in his chest, the corners of his eyes stinging with the oncoming promise of tears.

* * *

><p><em>I can't stand to fly<br>I'm not that naive  
>I'm just out to find<br>The better part of me_

_I'm more than a bird, I'm more than a plane_  
><em>I'm more than some pretty face beside a train<em>  
><em>And it's not easy to be me<em>

_Wish that I could cry_  
><em>Fall upon my knees<em>  
><em>Find a way to lie<em>  
><em>About a home I'll never see<em>

_It may sound absurd, but don't be naive_  
><em>Even heroes have the right to bleed<em>  
><em>I may be disturbed, but won't you concede<em>  
><em>Even heroes have the right to dream<em>  
><em>It's not easy to be me<em>

_Up, up and away, away from me_  
><em>It's all right, you can all sleep sound tonight<em>  
><em>I'm not crazy, or anything<em>

_I can't stand to fly_  
><em>I'm not that naive<em>  
><em>Men weren't meant to ride<em>  
><em>With clouds between their knees<em>

_I'm only a man in a silly red sheet_  
><em>Digging for kryptonite on this one way street<em>  
><em>Only a man in a funny red sheet<em>  
><em>Looking for special things inside of me<em>  
><em>Inside of me<em>  
><em>Inside me<em>  
><em>Yeah, inside me<em>  
><em>Inside of me<em>

_I'm only a man_  
><em>In a funny red sheet<em>  
><em>I'm only a man<em>  
><em>Looking for a dream<em>

_I'm only a man_  
><em>In a funny red sheet<em>  
><em>And it's not easy<em>

_It's not easy to be me_

* * *

><p>A single tear singed the smooth, pallid tones of England's skin and traced its way down the cold curve of his cheek. The fat drop of liquid fell onto the paper and graced it with its ever-so intrusive presence, staining what milky white expanses weren't covered in America's messy scrawls. . England faintly recognized a few other dried spots of the same liquid tainting the paper as well, smudging the ink of Alfred's own words across it.<p>

Ah, so this is what America had been working on.

England's breath faltered for a moment as he fought in a desperate battle to reign in his tears. After all, it wasn't _his_ place to cry. If anyone, Alfred should be the one crying; although that was far from what England wanted.

Pent up emotion. That's what had fueled this very song, wasn't it?

Why hadn't he noticed? The older nation shook his head sadly. Of course he hadn't. America always put on such a convincing show; the boisterous laughter, the wide, cheerful smile, the constant boasting of 'being the hero' and being resilient, powerful.

Invincible. Unbreakable. America had built himself up that way. And people had started to believe it.

But, now that England thought about it, how could anyone have thought that? The truth of the matter was, America was still extremely young. A little fledgling of a country; so fresh and new, and full of thousands of unrelenting hopes and dreams that he strived so hard to make a reality. Yet he was expected so much of, and in all truth, even if in terms of being a nation he was around 200 years old, in his mindset, Alfred was only a 19 year old boy. To have seen all he had seen and experience all he had experienced at that age, and to still be expected so much of...it had to have been stressful, and difficult, even for the infamous hero.

Yet no one saw past the smiles and the feigned confidence, did they? Although, the American's confidence and exuberant nature certainly wasn't always faked. In fact, more than often he really _was_ happy. America _was_ powerful, and he _was_ strong. The real problem, though, was that those few moments when Alfred was breaking, no one would notice. He was the hero; Superman. So no one gave much thought, if any, to how America was doing as his economy crumbled and his people suffered, because he was the hero and he could handle it, right? Yes, he was supposed to be the hero…But even so, sometimes-England realized- America wished he could somehow make the rest of the world understand that he wasn't invincible, wasn't perfect, that he had the same fears and shortcomings as everybody else. No, he wasn't always like this but he had his moments and, apparently…..right now was one of them.

England finally understood that message as he looked forlornly down upon the lyrics sheet held in his pale, trembling hands. He understood. America was slowly disintegrating, and he had been too insensitive to notice.

What could he do, though? England didn't want to bluntly confront America about it; for some reason, that didn't feel like the right thing to do. No, if America wanted to talk about it, he already would have. Yet even though he hadn't talked about it yet, the younger nation still needed….help. He needed something, a comfort, a warmth, some happiness to help ease the pain and stress, if only slightly.

What Alfred needed right now, was just to know that England was there for him. England understood now. The best thing to do was to let America know that he was there, that the young nation didn't have to be alone. They didn't have to talk about anything, not at all. America just needed to know that his lover was there for him- and always.

That's all he needed to do.

The once wonderful promise of a shower and a change into fresh clothes was quickly forgotten as England hastily shoved the papers back onto the desk, and strode out of the room. Only one thing was on his mind as tears once again began to well in his startling emerald green eyes.

_America._

* * *

><p><strong>[S u p e r m a n]<strong>

* * *

><p>When England returned, America was singing.<p>

Yet it wasn't the loud, upbeat sort of singing that England had grown accustomed to hearing from the younger nation whenever he sang. No, this time Alfred was singing softly under his breath as he rummaged through the refrigerator, pulling out all sorts of junk and unhealthy foods and—(a carton of milk? Honestly, on a picnic?) The older nation briefly recognized an excerpt of the lyrics he had read not a few minutes earlier.

"_I'm only a man in a funny red sheet. I'm only a man lookin' for a dream…."_

The reminder brought tears to the old nation's eyes once again.

But what was even worse, was America's…._expression. _How had he not noticed before? The younger nation almost looked…..lost.

A now painfully aware England saw through the cracks of the other's mask. He saw how the spark of hope, love and happiness within the American's eyes slowly flickered and waned until it was no longer there; saw how the usually blinding smile had faded into a small, rueful frown. England didn't like it. He didn't like it at all.

Suddenly, America noticed his quickly approaching boyfriend's presence. At first, he smiled (though England could now tell that it was forged), but then as he saw England his smile faded and his brow furrowed in confusion. "Hey!" he chided, looking displeased. "I thought you were gonna get ready! You sure are taking a long time! Don't you wanna go?"

England didn't say anything. He just kept walking towards America, mind set on what he knew he had to do. Tears now streamed freely down his face, the misty haze clouding his vision as he continued to walk forward.

America, suddenly, noticed these tears, and his eyes widened in immediate concern. When the American next spoke, his voice was softer, less placating, but filled with a foreboding sense of worry. "Hey...England? What's wrong? ….Are you okay?"

Yet the older nation still didn't speak.

"Iggy…what—."

Finally, the Brit had closed the distance between himself and his lover. And before America could even say anything or begin to protest, England embraced him. He wrapped his arms around the American and held him as tightly as he could; just stood there and hugged his lover for all it was worth, and all the while not saying a word.

Deep orbs of cerulean blue blinked and widened in shock. For a moment, Alfred was frozen to the ground where he stood, unable to hug the other man who had so…. unexpectedly embraced him. He gasped, but for a minute, couldn't bring himself to find the words he so desperately needed to say. _Are you okay, what's going on, what happened, did someone hurt you…. _But he couldn't seem to grasp onto any full sentences or phrases, no matter how hopelessly he grappled for them.

Then, finally, with a deep breath to calm himself, America blurted out the one question that was on his mind.

"Arthur…are you—,"

But England cut him off.

The older nation's voice was soft, shaky. He inhaled sharply, tightened his grip, spoke.

"It's okay," he whispered suddenly, startling the American even further. "Alfred. Oh, _Alfred….._I'm here for you. I'm… always here for you."

America was still confused beyond belief, startled by the sudden turn of events. One minute England had been perfectly _fine- _his usually adorable, grumbling little British self- and next he was holding the American as tightly as possible and mumbling soothing whispers into his ear and…what had happened?

" And….I love you, poppet….I love you _so much. _….You're not alone, love, you're never alone, I promise you…" mumbled England.

The American's confusion was suddenly forgotten.

England's words wrenched their way into his heart, and that one simple little phrase snapped something within him.

And America- young, lost, and broken- clutched onto England, buried his face in the Brit's neck, and he cried.

And cried.

And cried.

_And cried. _

America fisted the fabric of England's suit in his hands as hot, messy tears made cruel tracks across his unusually pale, ashen face; breaths coming out in sharp, strangled gasps. His constant sobs were muffled against the crook of England's neck as America shivered and convulsed, practically dissolving into nothing in his lover's arms.

England said absolutely nothing; simply closed his eyes and held his boyfriend as America cried against the older nation's neck. The elder did his best to hold back his own tears, for it was America who really needed to cry right now; needed to let out all of the pent up emotion that he had suppressed for so long. England rubbed his lover's back in a gentle, soothing motion as America continued to sob, clutching even tighter onto England.

The two of them stayed like that for what seemed like hours, England tightly embracing America and said American clinging to the smaller man, sobbing relentlessly into his neck. For some reason, they didn't need to say anything; didn't need to communicate through spoken words. The simple, yet comforting words England had said had struck something within the American, and he had understood. He had known what England meant, and at that moment he had somehow felt it was the right moment to finally spill his heart out. For some reason, although the Brit's words were meant to be a comfort, it had become the breaking point. And England too, understood what Alfred was saying without having to hear the words. The tears were just the very sign of all of the burdens America had been carrying, of how he had been trying so _hard _, yet still didn't seem to be able to fix things. England didn't need America to say this to know that it was how the young nation felt. Through some unspoken communication, they knew. So they did not speak, just stood there and held each other as if there was nothing and no one else in the world.

After a long while, America's sobs began to die down into nothing but little gasps and whimpers. England still did not let go, but very quietly, he finally broke the eerie silence. "Love….would you like to go sit down?"

With a shaky intake of breath, America prepared himself to speak. Yet…. despite this, he couldn't seem to find his voice. His earlier lamentation had left him simply devoid of anything to say. The only thing he could do was nod weakly against the Brit's shoulder and hold back another bout of sobs.

Unwillingly, England pried himself from America, but did not disconnect from the man completely. Gently, England took his lover's hand and led America towards the couch. The young nation sat down cautiously next to him and rested his head on his shoulder.

The two of them sat there in utter silence- no sobbing, nor speaking. Once again, the message seemed to have been delivered without words.

England rested his head upon the other's and rubbed reassuring circles into the sunny blonde's side. America took deep, calming breaths in an attempt to soothe himself, and after a little while England looked down and saw that the younger nation had fallen asleep, looking almost peaceful and innocent compared to his earlier breakdown. England idly watched the gentle rise and fall of the young boy's chest, and then bent down to place a soft kiss on the America's forehead. He smiled thinly, pulling back to gaze at America and gently stroke his sunshiny blonde hair.

Nothing had truly been resolved; far from it, actually. They both knew that America was struggling, crumbling, and they knew that there was still much, much hardship to trudge through, much more water to tred across until America finally reached that craggy shoreline. Yet for now, England had done what he needed to do. The older nation had let America know that he wasn't walking his dangerous trek alone, wasn't treading through these perilous waters by himself. No matter who bumpy the road got, England would not stray from America's side. Besides, America was just a boy, and- hero or not- even he couldn't do everything on his own.

Who ever said heroes had to stand alone, anyways?

* * *

><p><em>I'm only a man<br>__In a funny red sheet  
><em>_And it's not easy  
><em>_It's not easy to be me_

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I'm sorry if the ending seems rushed. I really tried, but it was late and I really needed to get this fanfic done. ;-; I swear I'll supply you with better one-shots soon! For now I'm trying my best with everything else that's going on. Dx **

**If you did like this, however, that's real nice of you. I would appreciate a review~. **

**Thanks for all of the wonderful reviews I've gotten so far, by the way! You guys are all the best!**

**Until next time. **

**~I.S. **


	6. Author's Note! IMPORTANT!

**WARNING: THIS IS NOT AN UPDATE; IT IS AN INFORMAL AUTHOR'S NOTE. YOU WILL BE DISAPPOINTED.**

_But it is important that you read this, so I highly suggest that you do._

* * *

><p>First off, I want to apologize with the delay of my next chapter. But well, some things have been worked out, and I've decided that the set-up of this fic is going to …go under some alterations, if you will.<p>

As much as I love UKUS/USUK, it's very hard to write 100 drabbles all about the same pairing (I'm sure it's been done before, but it's not really the way I roll). So, a friend and I, Arahsi91 (she's freakin' Prussia, by the way. Go read her stories NOW), have decided that the majority of these prompts will now be a collab between her and I, featuring multiple pairings as well as UKUS/USUK.

Don't get me wrong, I assume there will still be quite a big dose of UKUS in the oncoming chapters, but I wanted to broaden my horizons a little. I need to work on writing different characters, I feel.

So, things to expect in the next few chapters:

**Collabs:**

Note, when I said the majority of the one-shots will be a collab between Arashi91 and myself, that does not mean all of them will be. I still have one with Eva Hazuki in progress, which is a UKUSUK (and yes, that implies two Englands /cough/) smut fic. That should be done fairly soon, I feel.

Now, as for my collabs with Arashi91, here's what we have in mind so far, to give you a good idea. Note, some of these pairings WILL be crack or pairings that aren't necessarily popular, so if you don't like crack pairings, I'm giving you fair warning.

_**In Progress:**_

PruCan fic: Fluff

Cotton Candy Addiction

_I adore this pairing, I think it's simply adorable and great for fluff. This fic is progressing quite well if I do say so myself and I suspect it won't be long before its up. Canada acquires an addiction to cotton candy. That will be all that is said._

_**Ideas:**_

AmePru/PruAme fic: Genre Undecided

_I have a secret passion for this pairing. I found out about it through my own cracky brain. I was sitting and feeling like writing Hetalia crack one day, so I did. (No it will not be posted here; it was a little too…Well. It's in script form and I'm too lazy to write it out. I'll put it at that.) But let's just say, in the end the plot resulted in it ending up being just Prussia and America, and they said "Fuck it" and did each other into the ground. …Lawl. _

_Then I looked up PruAme and I loved it._

_So! No ideas for a plot as of yet but we absolutely KNOW we're going to do one. IT HAS TO BE DONE!~ _

Bad Touch Trio Fic: Humor/Slight Crack

Fighting Crime together (TEAMWORK!)

_Note: This is not a pairing fic. I don't intend for every one of these drabbles to be pairing fics, actually. _

_The Bad Touch Trio is badass and they deserve a one-shot. There will probably be more than one out there. This was actually a crack-filled RP that was started between us two…and well. We felt it had to be done. _

…_.You know what else would be fun?_

_They should all go out clubbing._

_Crap._

_I'm suggesting that._

* * *

><p><strong>Things I may write on my own(or propose as a collab in the near future):<strong>

_**In Progress:**_

UKUS/USUK Fic: Fluff

Monochrome

_Something about the monochromatic scale intrigues me._

_And now in this Arthur is an up and coming artist, and he sees the world as a dull, monochromatic scale. But what happens when a mysterious person arrives and ruptures that monochrome? _

_I started this one day, because random inspiration likes to do that to me. I didn't want to abandon it, so I suspect it will be posted up here…sometime. It's about halfway done. Yay for UKUS! _

UKUS Fic(told you there's still a lot of these): Smut

There's Something About Nantucket..

_Yay for smut! PWP over here. _

_I started this a while ago, never finished. I feel as if I should. _

_England wants to know why America is so defensive of Nantucket. …You can probably guess where it goes from there. _

UKUS (USUK?) Fic: Fluff

HP Crossover

_Like the Potterhead I am. Another one I began and never finished, but I want to pick it back up again. _

_It always bugs me how everyone likes to stick Arthur in either Slytherin or Gryffindor house. I can see the Slytherin I suppose- with the whole Black Magic thing- but I still don't feel it fits him._

_Has anyone- I mean ANYONE- ever considered sticking him in Ravenclaw?_

_Well that's what I did. I wrote this so I could do that. _

_And now I want to finish it. _

_**Ideas: **_

Germancest Fic: Genre Undecided

_..What. Don't give me that look._

_I like to ship Prussia around, y'know?_

_So I have plans to dabble in Germancest._

_PROPOSING THIS AS A COLLAB. _

Prussia Fic: Angst

The deterioration of the Prussian Empire

_This topic also intrigues me. And makes me cry. A lot. _

_I told you these wouldn't all be pairing fics- some I just wanted to be one single character. This I definitely want to do. I really love Prussia (he's becoming my absolute favorite character as of late...). He's such a multifaceted character, no? _

Spamano Fic: Fluff

Pocky Game

_Crap I love it when Spain and Romano play the pocky game. That is all. _

_Not sure if this really will be done or not.._

_Maybe I should make it a collab._

…_Hey. Mi Francia. Let's do a Spamano collab somewhere in the near future, si?~_

* * *

><p><em>SO! <em>That's basically what you can expect from us in the future!

Again, I apologize that I have yet to update, but there is a lot coming so be excited!

Also:

_**Sorry If I've disappointed you purely USUK/UKUS fans out there, because this is no longer a fic about just those two. But please, try to be open-minded to these other pairings and fics as well.**_

Last order of business, I want to give much, much thanks to:

Arashi91: For being Prussia and collabing with me!

Let's try to stick it out through all 100, okay?~

Eva Hazuki: Thank you as well for collabing and betaing! Much appreciated! :3

All other who have reviewed/favorited/read!: Your reviews make me smile and keep me going! Thank you so very much, each and every one of you.

_**ILLUSIVE SHADOWS, OVER AND OUT!**_


	7. Food

**A/N: Hello! The much awaited chapter of the 100 Fanfic Challenge is finally here!**

**Now, if you haven't read the author's note in the chapter previous to this, I suggest you do. These pairings are no longer all UKUS/USUK! This is a PruCan fic (Prussia x Canada). **

**This was the first of many collabs between Arashi91 and I, with her as the awesome Prussia and me as little CanCan, whilst sharing the role of the hero. xD Much credit to her everyone! She is wonderfundle!**

**Disclaimer: We do not own Hetalia! **

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><p>"I'm kinda surprised that America invited us down to this uber huge carnival for free this year," Prussia interjected above the general cacophony of conversation snippets surrounding the two nations, "he's awesome for that... but not as awesome as me, of course!" He nudged the sandy-haired country beside him and pointed in two directions at once. "Whatcha think, Mattie? What do you want to do first?"<p>

The young Canadian scanned the crowd with nervous indigo eyes, clutching a stuffed polar bear cub close to his chest, and then fixated his gaze to stare at his boyfriend. A soft, gentle smile spread across his face. "Yeah, me too," he replied. "Al can have his generous moments… s-sometimes, I guess."

Upon hearing the question, his gaze flickered back to the extravagant scenery, eyes sweeping over the colorful displays and masses of people gathering around the stands and rides. "U-uhm…" he stuttered, not sure exactly what to say. Suddenly, he spotted a Ferris wheel far in the distance, and inwardly cringed. He had never liked heights. "I don't think I wanna go on any rides yet... Ur... I honestly don't know.. .I am kinda hungry though..." he squeaked, tightening the grip on his bear as he and his boyfriend continued to walk forward.

Prussia nodded, ruby eyes scanning the crowd signs in the distance, noticing that the only thing around in the way of food seemed to be a stand that catered to just about all crowds, featuring carnival food alongside the usual American cuisine. He gestured to the stand a handful of meters away. "How about there? Looks like we'll find at least something there to eat... dunno if it's edible or not, verdammt American with his fat-filled burgers. Want to check it out anyway?"

Matthew chuckled softly, one hand reaching up to absentmindedly push his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "I-I guess that's alright," he responded timidly, stepping forward to find a place in the slowly thinning line. Prussia quickly fell into place beside him. Finally, once the two had reached the counter and the chipper cashier asked them what they would like, Matthew hesitated. The stand, of course, sold burgers, fries, hotdogs- all of the usual things to be expected for carnival cuisine. However, at the front of the stand, right next to the cashier, was a colorful display, holding some sort of fluffy looking pink substance on... _sticks?_ Matthew's brow furrowed a little. "What's that?" he asked, pointing to the curious looking treat to the left of the cashier.

"Eh?" Eyes narrowed against the blazing afternoon sun slid over to the cotton candy setup of which Canada inquired. "That thing makes cotton candy. You haven't seen one before...? So that means... Mattie, have you ever had cotton candy?"

Matthew blinked, violet orbs taking on an even more befuddled sheen than before as he turned to face Prussia. "C-cotton...what?" he asked, utterly dumbfounded as to what his boyfriend was speaking of. "That...f-fluffy stuff is...candy? But...well...I guess I haven't had it before...Why..is it good?"

Prussia's eyes abandoned the cotton candy stand to wheel around to face Canada, looping an arm around his boyfriend's before dragging him over to the stand and ordering a pink and blue swirled swath of cotton candy, forking out a few American bills from the pocket of his jeans. "I'll put it simply, it's like an orgasm in your mouth. It's one thing that America got right after all these years experimenting with his candy and sweets, kesese!~"

Canada tentatively took the sugary treat in one hand as it was handed to him, other still holding its firm grasp on his beloved bear. For a moment, he simply stared at it, as if still unable to believe that it truly existed. Then finally, he removed the clear plastic wrapping around it and ghosted his fingertips across it. The substance was wispy and thin, and slightly sticky. With careful, nervous fingers, the sandy blonde plucked a tiny bit of the sugary fluff from its clump and slowly popped it into his mouth.

As soon as he did, his eyes visibly brightened. "This is_...d-delicious!"_ he exclaimed quietly as he reached for another piece... and another... and another... and another…

With an intrigued expression adorning his pointed features Prussia unhooked his arm from around Canada's if only for the fear of his boyfriend somehow wrenching it off in his haste to stuff his face with cotton candy. "Yeah, it can get really addicting sometimes, like you've probably already found out." He hastily reached for Canada's now-lopsided lump of cotton candy and snatched a piece of pink fluff before the North American nation had a chance to finish it off without Prussia first stealing a bite.

One moment, the flavors were igniting within Canada's mouth like a symphony of saccharine goodness- the taste of the sweet, cottony substance dancing across his taste buds and slowly melting away. Then before he knew it, he had reached for another piece to find it was suddenly gone. The young blonde felt a great deal more sadness than he should upon seeing the lone rod in his hands that had once held his sugary treat. "It's gone..." he nearly whimpered, violet eyes downcast and shrouded in disappointment. "It was so good too..."

Snowy brows rose into his hairline as Prussia motioned to the nonexistent line in front of the register. "There's always more where that came from. You sound like you just found out your bear ran away!" he chuckled heartily as he hopped back in line, ordered up another cotton candy tree - tipping off the cashier an extra few bills to heighten the fluff - and ended up returning to his boyfriend with a ball of cotton candy noticeably taller than before, holding it out in front of the slightly shorter blonde.

The North American nation's expression brightened in an almost comical way, lavender eyes alight with exultation and delight as he snatched the treat from his boyfriend's hands. He barely had time to squeak a quiet 'thanks' before diving into it, ravenously devouring the large portion of cotton candy with such fervor that he nearly dropped his stuffed bear. The crimson-eyed albino beside him casually reached for a bite, and Canada found it almost painful to resist the urge to swat away the offending hand that threatened to steal the delightful delicacy away from him. However, the shorter blonde managed. After all, Prussia _had_been the one to pay...

The newest supply of cotton candy was gone all too soon. Canada wiped feebly at a few strands of the thin, stringy blue substance that lingered at the corners of his lips with the sleeve of his hockey jersey. His cheeks flushed a deep, tomato red as he gazed bashfully up at his boyfriend, eyes shrouded beneath thick blonde lashes. "S-sorry, Gil..." he stuttered, picking up the bear that had been unconsciously thrown to the ground in all of his earlier haste. "It's just really tasty, eh? ...A-almost as good as maple syrup..." The Canadian couldn't help but feel a little guilty that he had barely let his boyfriend get a taste of the candy, especially when Prussia had been the one who had paid, but he had found that he couldn't help himself. It was just so _delicious_… Canada wanted more, more of the mouthwatering, delectable treat, but didn't want to be rude by asking again... He would have to make a mental note to ask America where he could acquire a cotton candy machine later.

"S'okay Mattie! So, uh… d'you want to find something else to do? The carnival doesn't end for another few hours, and these tickets were free, so…" Prussia nudged the blonde beside him, gaze alight with excitement and held steady upon the wooden frame of the roller coaster looming a few feet in front of them, visible behind the snack stand.

Canada followed his boyfriend's gaze to the wooden rollercoaster that towered above them. He watched in horror as a chain of brightly colored carts chugged up the steep hill ever so slowly, and then suddenly shot downwards at a horrifying speed. The young Canadian flinched when he heard the unmistakable sound of terrified screaming. "U-um...We can..ride that rollercoaster?" he suggested quietly, trying to keep his eyes averted from aforementioned ride so he wouldn't chicken out and disappoint his boyfriend. Prussia nodded excitedly and led them forwards.

For good measure, Canada locked the albino's hand in a vice-like grip and squeezed it tightly, if only to reassure himself. The last thing he could remember thinking before stepping into the first cart in line, was that he better get more cotton candy out of this.

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><p>Prussia leaned back farther into the garish, fire-engine red leather couch that spanned an entire wall of the questionably-decorated living room that could only have belonged to America, seeing as how the largest picture in the entire first floor comprised a framed, carefully ironed American flag boasting its stars and stripes, as he situated the obsidian Xbox controller that he had brought over himself upon his thigh and turned to the Canadian sitting beside him. "So, why exactly are we here again? You said it was urgent business... or something along those lines, right?" he questioned, garnet eyes scoping the room on the lookout for the return of the boisterous American.<p>

The sandy blonde's eyes darted down to the hands situated in his lap, which he had been nervously wringing for about the past 5 minutes. The light dusting of blush that had begun to form across the apples of his cheeks was threatening to become more prominent, and he cleared his throat in a futile attempt to rid himself of his obvious embarrassment. "W-well, yeah," he mumbled softly, "it's uh… really important… I wanted to ask him about... ur... something..." But before he could even begin to explain any further, the nation in question suddenly bounded into the room, with all of the usual theatrics and obnoxious laughter that could only be associated with America. "Hey Canadia!" his eternally high-pitched voice diffused easily throughout the entire first story of his humble abode, "'Sup dude, what brings ya here?" The excited timbre of his voice dropped dramatically as he added, "and hey there too, Prussia."

A brief frown tugged at the Canadian's lips at his brother's attitude towards Prussia, but he decided he wouldn't dwell on it too much. America had always been iffy about their relationship, if only because he was a little too over-protective when it came to Canada. But at least now he was _attempting _to be polite. When Canada had first told the older blonde about their relationship, he had threatened to "rip Prussia's head off" as he had so charmingly put it. "Hey Al," greeted Canada, the corners of his mouth upturning into a gentle smile. "Uhm... so I wanted to ask you something…"

America's eyes, bluer than the sky outside, shifted to his brother as a pearly grin spread across his face, blatantly ignoring the obvious glare that Prussia trained on him. "Whatcha need, Mattie? Anything for my little bro!"

Canada inhaled and exhaled deeply. He glanced shyly up at America from behind a pair of glasses almost identical to his brother's, indigo penetrating equally stunning cerulean orbs as he prepared himself to respond. "U-m... Well you know that really good cotton candy stuff that you had at that carnival a week or two ago…?" he stuttered, trying to keep his voice from trembling. "I-I was just wondering... if maybe you knew where I could... get one of those fancy machines that makes one… eh? I mean, if you don't mind..." He flushed even deeper this time, averting his gaze and refusing to look at either Prussia or his brother America in fear of their reactions.

What could only be called America's 'hero laugh' pierced the air after a few tense moments of staring at his brother in almost disbelief- he didn't exactly understand why Canada's voice shook so much if he was just asking for a cotton candy machine. It wasn't like he was asking to borrow a condom or anything, like another French-speaking country that he knew of... "Yeah! I got a spare one out back if ya wanna take that one with you when you leave here! I hardly use it anymore since I replaced it with a suped-up one that's only for barbeque use! It's got everything you need with it too, so you can hook it up and use it right when you get home if ya want to." He gestured to the back door in the adjacent room.

Canada's tone quickly lost its nervous edge and his smile broadened to reveal blindingly white teeth. "R-really?" he asked in both disbelief and pure excitement, eyes widening behind the rounded frames of his glasses. "Oh wow… I mean... Thank you, America!" he trilled in delight. His gaze then flickered to the room that his older brother had gestured to, and he found himself to be nearly bouncing on the edge of his seat in all of his enthusiasm and anticipation, which was quite unlike him, save a few rare occasions (now apparently being one of them). "Hey Gil, will you help me carry it home…?" he asked, turning to stare expectantly at his snowy-haired boyfriend.

Prussia simply blinked with a piqued eyebrow as he nodded, hopping to his feet and stooping to pick up his Xbox controller that had clattered against the floor, having forgotten that it lay on his thigh while he sat. "Yeah, of course Mattie, you don't have to ask! I'll carry it home myself, I'm that awesome!" he chuckled as he extended a hand to the uncharacteristically-ecstatic Canadian, though his eyes found America. "Thanks for giving it to him, dude. I hate to admit it, but sometimes you can be pretty awesome. ...but not as much as me, of course!"

America, for once, smiled at the albino, lips spread into a friendly grin. "Yeah, sure, whatever, Prussia," he answered with a wink. Canada, meanwhile, was already towing Prussia by the arm to the room of which America had spoken of, giggling lightheartedly all the while. He could practically taste the cotton candy's sweetness on the tip of his tongue now, feel it slowly dissipating into nothing but a pool of sugary goodness in his mouth... The young blonde nearly drooled at the thought.

It took Prussia a few seconds of stumbling to adjust to Canada's rather quick pace as the slightly shorter blonde nation whisked both of them through the door that America had gestured to previously. "Eh, you really like this stuff, don'tcha Mattie?" Prussia wondered aloud as they reached the mid-sized metallic cotton candy machine, eyes widening in elation at the prospect of the machine being equipped with wheels underneath the main unit. _Thank Gott I don't have to carry that verdammt thing! Awesome!_

The shorter blonde faltered a little in his step at the comment, a furious blush staining his cheeks. "W-well... yeah... It's really good, eh?" he replied timidly. His embarrassment, however, didn't last for long, for as soon as Canada saw the cotton candy machine, his blush quickly faded and his face lit up with excitement. "Wow! This is great!" he exclaimed, rushing over to the machine and simultaneously yanking his boyfriend with him in the process. "Oh, Gil, let's take it home right now so we can make some! Come on!"

Prussia couldn't hold back the scratchy laugh that resonated within his throat as he nodded, reaching out to clutch a handle jutting off of the cart. "Don't you wanna say bye or something to your Bruder before we go?" he asked absently, his mind apparently working ceaselessly on some unknown matter.

Canada blinked. "W-what? ...Oh... Well I guess I probably should..." But despite this revelation, Canada could not bring himself to abandon his newly beloved cotton candy machine. He stared forlornly down at the metallic contraption, one hand clutched onto its opposite handle, as if he couldn't bear to leave it. He glanced over at the door they had entered through to see it was slightly ajar, and an idea suddenly popped into his mind. Instead of running inside to give his brother a personal goodbye, he shouted through the open door, too anxious to get his sugary treat to supply anything further than, "Bye Alfred! T-thanks again!" Canada then turned back to smile at Prussia, tugging lightly on the handle of the machine. "Alright. Ready to go now?"

"As long as you're ready, I'm ready," Prussia nodded, inwardly cackling at what a rushed goodbye America received from his brother. He began to pull the heavier-than-it-looked cotton candy machine, gritting his teeth intermittently on the way over to the back gate.

The young blonde pushed from the opposite side of the machine as his boyfriend pulled, struggling with its weight even more so than Prussia. As they finally reached the car and began to load it into the back (thank goodness Canada had brought a car with a lot of storage space on his trip here to America), Canada grinned up at Prussia, violet orbs radiating a generous sort of warmth. "Thanks Gil…" he muttered as they got the last of it into the back of the truck, brushing a stray lock of blonde hair out of his eyes. After Prussia had replied with a loud 'no problem' and something about being awesome, Canada anxiously hopped into the car, waiting on the edge of his seat for the delectable treat that now lay so close to his fingertips.

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><p><em>Days Later…<em>

One solid kick to the front door wracked the generously-sized house as Prussia literally hopped through the now-ajar entrance, stopping in his haste to toe off his sneakers in the foyer and slam the door behind him before flying through the house in pursuit of Canada. He stopped in his tracks as he reached the now-cramped kitchen, scarlet eyes falling straight onto the blonde standing beside the fairly-new cotton candy machine. A hand flickered up to smack his forehead as he crossed the kitchen with a cocky grin plastered to his face, contagious laughter filling the room. "Oy vey, Mattie, you're gonna get sick if you keep eating that stuff day in and day out, you need to eat some real food too you know!" he mock-chided, halting as he came up alongside his boyfriend and tossing an arm across narrow shoulders.

Canada fumbled with the knobs on the machine for a moment in his haste to get his newest batch of cotton candy (which would be his seventh that afternoon). He felt a strongly built arm wrapping around his shoulders, and this only caused him to flush and struggle even more with the cotton candy machine's mechanisms. Finally, with a sigh, he gave up on his fruitless efforts and shifted his gaze to his boyfriend. "I-I haven't had that much…" he protested as he reached for the fluffy white bear that sat on the adjacent counter. "J-just seven batches... today..."

A bewildered expression overtook Prussia's face as his uniquely-hued eyes bulged. "S-Seven batches. Just today. You're kidding."

The younger of the two cast his eyes downwards in embarrassment, his relentless blush darkening as he clutched his bear even tighter. "No... B-but… seven batches isn't that much! I mean... just yesterday I had fifteen…! And t-then the day before that twenty... But that's still not a lot..."

Prussia blinked. "Uh-huh. Not a lot my _ass_, Mattie. Hang on, I'll... be back." A determined look glinted within Prussia's eyes as he pulled Canada into a one-armed hug before whipping out a pair of plastic-framed sunglasses out of the back pocket of his jeans- the word _awesome_ had been scrawled onto one side of the frames in silver Sharpie- and plucked them onto the bridge of his nose. He knew what he had to do... even if that meant dashing over to America's house for cotton candy intervention.

Canada's brow furrowed, a little crease forming between two fine blonde brows. He noticed the pair of signature sunglasses perched atop the albino's nose, which only caused his confusion to grow. Canada recognized the glasses, and knew Prussia only whipped them out when he meant serious business. Violet orbs shifted to eye the taller man skeptically, but before he knew it Prussia was already making his way to the doorway. "W-wha... Gilbert where are you going...?" the younger blonde attempted to inquire, blinking a bit in all of his disbelief, but his only reply was the slight creak of the door as it swung lazily back and forth on its hinges, signaling that Prussia had very abruptly shoved it open and dashed out into the open atmosphere. Canada stood there for a few moments, his telltale curl waving a little in the breeze that fluttered in through the open doorway, then shook his head, as if to clear the stream of muddled thoughts and confused questions occupying his mind. Then, with a sigh, he turned back to his cotton candy machine, and began fiddling with the knobs once more.

As soon as the rubber soles of Prussia's newly-sneakered feet touched the pavement outside he burst into a dash, pushing himself faster than he had ever run before. _Gotta get to that verdammt American's, gotta get there now!_ A pep talk-like chant echoed within his eardrums as he rounded a few corners, absently keeping track of the scenery that flew by him. It didn't take him long to reach America's mansion-esque house, jiggling the doorknob and allowing himself inside once he found that it had been left unlocked. "HEY AMERICA, THIS IS IMPORTANT!" he hollered at the top of his voice as he slammed the door behind him, carmine-red eyes shrouded behind cheap sunglasses flickering around the foyer/living room combination in which he found himself in search for the broad-framed blonde nation.

There was no reply for several moments, which left Prussia more than a little bit angry. He was about to scream for the exuberant blonde nation a second time, when suddenly said nation came bounding down the stairs, his feet pounding against the carpeting as he clambered to reach the albino that had burst into his home. Prussia found the American's appearance a bit questionable, and might've pointed it out and mocked him for it if the situation wasn't so urgent. America was shirtless, his tanned, bare chest glazed over with a glimmering sheen of sweat, and he was struggling with the button of his worn blue jeans, which seemed to have been thrown on with a great amount of haste. His blonde hair was rumpled, frizzy, and seemed to be tossed in every which direction, and his face was still deeply flushed. Electric blue eyes were wide and full of panic as America eyed the man in his doorway, chest heaving with each deep intake of breath. "What, what is it? Is everything all right? Is somebody hurt?"

"Uh…" was all Prussia could manage as his mind jumped to all sorts of conclusions about America's current attire; it took all of his will to bite back the snarky comment that built in his throat, his thoughts careening back to Canada's current problem at that moment. "Oh right. No one's hurt… yet. Mattie's kinda got an addiction now to cotton candy, he eats the fluff day in and day out, batch upon batch. So, I need your help with intervention! I don't want to see him like this, dude, you should see how he looks at it and shit, like he needs it to live. For once the awesome me needs help with this situation, so… will you help me? If not for me, do it for your Bruder at least."

America seemed to let out a breath he hadn't noticed he'd been holding at the statement. One hand reached up to wipe the sweat off of his brow, then drifted upwards to comb through tousled golden locks. A look of both relief and pure annoyance overtook America's sunny features. "Geez, Prussia..." he sighed. "You freakin' scared me..." America's annoyance, however, was quickly replaced by confusion. "Matt's addicted to… cotton candy? Whoa. Weird. Well uh… yeah I'll help, I mean, if it's for my bro… but can we do the intervention in a little bit… I gotta get decent, you know? And—" yet America's sentence was suddenly cut off as a pair of softer, more practiced feet were heard traipsing down the stairs.

Much to both of the two nation's surprise—and horror, if speaking of Prussia—in walked England, who was clad in nothing but a pair of Union Jack boxers and… was that a _blindfold _in his hand...? His appearance seemed to resemble Alfred's, except he looked quite a bit more frustrated than the taller man had, two bushy brows furrowing and seeming to form one large one.

"Alfred you git," remarked the small nation, who walked right past Prussia to reprimand the younger blonde, hands placed plaintively on his hips. "I'm waiting for you in there you know, you can't just stop in the middle of—"

Prussia then made it a point to clear his throat. Loudly.

England's head whipped around and a deep blush colored his cheeks as he saw the Prussian standing in the foyer. "Oh… Uhm… Hi Prussia… Ur…" Green eyes went wide beyond belief, taking in the almost sickened expression on the albino's face. "Uhm… Alfred I'll go wait back upstairs…" And with that the older nation scurried up the stairs at a furious speed, leaving in his wake a horrified Prussia and a facepalming America.

A hand flew up to Prussia's mouth as he half coughed, half laughed uncomfortably. "So, uh... sorry for interrupting," he snickered "but you're coming with me. Right now. This is SERIOUS, and I mean as serious as I am awesome!" With an expression caught between disgust and horror plastered onto his face Prussia grabbed America's arm and towed him out of his own home before the caramel-haired nation could properly react, already halfway down the street.

_Ugh... ENGLAND FOR GOD'S SAKES._ Prussia shook his head, attempting to rid his mind of the mental picture of England standing there clad only in his boxers. _Ah well, this'll make for awesome blackmail! _"Kesese...!" Prussia muttered as he shot a glance behind his shoulder at America, making sure that he kept up though he had a good hold on the other's forearm.

America stumbled as he was yanked violently out into the open doorway. He had no time to utter any words of protest—he still had no shirt on and looked like he had just gotten stopped in the middle of…well, what he had gotten stopped in the middle of—as Prussia pulled him along. Finally, the blonde gave in and ran along with Prussia, regaining his footing and wincing a little at the thought of what had gone down earlier in his home. _I am going to get so much shit for that… _He cringed. And these suspicions were only confirmed by the look that Prussia then sent his way. America inwardly groaned as he was dragged onwards.

Without so much as a huff of fatigue, wound up by the sheer adrenaline now fully coursing through his veins, Prussia kicked down the door as he had done before as soon as they had arrived upon Canada's doorstep. Turning around he picked up America and flung him onto the nearby sofa, not waiting for the North American country's protests before he skirted into the kitchen, discovering Canada in the same place where he had left him. "Come with me!" he shouted unnecessarily, clutching Canada's forearm and dragging him with unexpected force into the living room.

Canada let out a high-pitched yelp as he suddenly felt a large, firm hand squeeze him forcefully by the arm and drag him forward. "W-wha—Gil? What are you doing?" he spluttered, his glasses being thrown askew by the sheer force of Prussia's stronghold. "Y-you—Wha—" His arm was just as quickly let go, though, and he stumbled a little as he struggled to stand, glancing around nervously, squinting to try and make out where exactly he had been led to. The young nation felt his glasses being handed to him, and he gratefully took them and slipped them onto the bridge of his nose, only to find that he was in the living room... and on the couch was... America?

Said national superpower shot his twin brother a nervous grin, and mouthed a quick 'I have no clue either' upon seeing Canada's baffled expression. The younger blonde turned to face Prussia then, giving him a skeptical look. "What's Al doing here…? Gil… what is this...?"

Prussia adjusted the onyx sunglasses still situated upon the bridge of his nose before his arms crossed in front of his chest, taking a step back so both nations stood in his periphery. "Cotton candy intervention, Mattie. You've got a problem with the fluffy stuff, and we need to—awesomely—put an end to it."

America straightened on the couch, adjusting the hem of his jeans somewhat and attempting to shoot Canada an authoritative look (though he was clearly failing, because he hardly knew what was going on either). "Yeah, bro… what he said."

Canada, meanwhile, was shell-shocked. He blinked at Prussia for a few moments in pure confusion, unable to utter any form of spoken words or phrases. Then finally, he let out a quiet, nervous chuckle, one hand reaching to toy idly with a stray lock of sandy blonde hair. "I-I have no idea what you're talking about, Gil..." he stuttered. "I'm not addicted to it! I just like it, is all…"

Prussia shook his head. "No, Mattie, just liking it is having one little cotton candy tree maybe once every two or three weeks. That's what normal peeps do at least, because the verdammt thing is so tooth-decaying… but _you_ eat it like you need it to live! Eating… what, seven batches at the least per day?... is not healthy! You need to cut down before something really bad happens." His expression slipped slightly then, his true anguish betraying him but only for a moment, though he screwed his face up quick to cover it.

America took the liberty to pipe up then and interject with his own comment. "You're eating that much a day, Mattie…? …Whoa... Dude, that's not healthy, and that's coming from_ me_. I agree with Prussia... which is also something I don't do often. You gotta cut down on that shit, dude..."

Canada's eyes suddenly went wide with panic, and the striking lavender of his irises glazed over with the misty haze of oncoming tears. "W-wha… No, what are you talking about? I'm not addicted, it's perfectly fine! I can't have less... I _can't_… No, no… I need some right now, _right now,_ I-"

The despaired young blonde then abruptly turned and began to rush towards the kitchen in pursuit of another batch of his sugary treat, but he was halted by a firm hand clutching onto his forearm once more. His eyes shifted to Prussia, who had stopped him, and he immediately writhed in the albino's grasp. He shot Prussia a pleading look that was so completely desperate that it made both of the other nations wonder just exactly how far out of control this addiction had gotten. "Let me go!" Canada pleaded, his voice quickly rising in volume as he struggled against his boyfriend's grip. "Let me go now, I _need_ it!"

Prussia's teeth clenched unintentionally as he beheld the crazed form of his significant other, squirming in his grasp as if his fingertips conducted electricity. He shook his head as his free arm coiled around Canada's shoulders, relinquishing his hold upon the other's forearm to slide around a petite waist. "No, Mattie, you don't _need_ that. If anything you need _me," _he murmured in uncharacteristically soft tones, "and you need your Bruder. No more cotton candy for you, for a long time."

Canada's thrashing and crazed theatrics began to die down some as his lover pulled him into a warm embrace. Finally, he stopped struggling and tentatively hugged back, wrapping a pair of thin, pale arms around Prussia's midriff. A few tears that had been welling in his eyes escaped and traced their way down his cheek, creating cruel tracks against the pale flesh. "B-but…" he squeaked, his voice much softer than it had been a few moments ago. "I don't know if I can..." His murmurs were muffled as he buried his face into Prussia's shoulder, voice shaky and slightly unstable as he spoke.

America's expression softened a little at the display—maybe Prussia wasn't_ that_ bad—but ultimately he felt pretty awkward. "Yeah, uhm... What he said… again…"

A devious smirk spread across Prussia's face with a glimpse spared in America's direction. He decided then to blatantly make America _more_ uncomfortable (though his first and foremost goal was to comfort his lover) by tucking his head near the shell of Canada's ear, obscured by flaxen, sweet-scented locks. "Why don't you think you can, Liebe?" he breathed, hands drifting down Canada's back as careful fingertips traced intricate designs into its small through the blonde's shirt in a comforting gesture.

Canada stifled a sob and fisted the fabric of Prussia's clothing in his weak, trembling hands. "B-because… I think… maybe… maybe you were… r-right… I feel like… I need it to live… And I don't know what I'll do if I can't—if I can't have it…" he choked out, burying his face deeper into the crook of the albino's neck. He tried to calm down, focusing on the soft, reassuring touches his lover gave him as pale, spiderlike fingers ghosted across the young blonde's delicate frame, taking deep, soothing breaths all the while.

America, on the other hand, was now feeling exceedingly awkward. He did something that sounded as if it were between the clearing of the throat and a cough, shifting awkwardly in his seat on the couch. "Hey," he said, trying to regain some of the two's attention. "I'm here for you too, Mattie, I'll always be here. I'm the hero after all!"

All America received, however, was a quietly murmured 'thanks' and his brother's attention was once again focused on Prussia. _I see what he's doing,_ thought America. _Trying to get back at me for what happened with England earlier, the bastard. _He then huffed childishly and averted his gaze away from the romantic scene that was happening only a few meters away from him.

"Well, instead of all that cotton candy, you've got something way more awesome right at your fingertips," Prussia whispered before pulling away from the Canadian, one hand flitting up to the other's chin to nudge his face upward, "you have the awesomeness that is me sitting right here, ready for you anytime, you know. Always been here! Always will be. So… let's change that addiction of yours around, shall we?" His trademark "kesese!~" reverberated in his throat as he tossed his arms under the joints of Canada's knees and across his shoulders, picking his boyfriend up bridal-style. "Oh yeah, you're free to go back to bangin' England now, America," Prussia remarked, fighting to keep the laughter out of his voice before he crossed the room to mount the stairs with Canada.

The younger North American nation blinked away the remaining tears from his eyes and, despite everything, gave his boyfriend a sweet, warm smile. "Thanks, Gil..." he muttered, a light pink blush forming across his sallow cheeks. "Je t'aime..." The last words Canada muttered were almost completely inaudible, and he doubt Prussia had caught it..

By this point Canada had completely forgotten of his brother's presence, and was even more flustered when he spotted America looking particularly awkward on the couch. He was about to say something to his twin, but was cut off before he could even say anything as Prussia swooped him into his arms. The young nation let out a small squeak of surprise. "G-Gil…!"

The caramel haired nation on the couch blinked in surprise at the Prussian's snarky comment. He would've said something, but Prussia's offer had seemed all too tempting, so instead, he just gave his brother a quick goodbye and a few reassuring words, and hurried out the door, eager to resume his earlier session with England. _Freakin' finally._

* * *

><p><em>One Month Later…<em>

Stocky thumbs flicked across the glass screen of America's new touchscreen phone that he had run out to buy at midnight of the same day. He traipsed down the sidewalk leading toward Canada's house, whimpering inwardly as he activated the lock on his new toy and dropped it into the back pocket of his jeans. He jiggled the tarnished doorknob and allowed himself inside with a forte "Hey bro, I'm here!" that rattled the ivory plaster walls of the first story of his brother's home, striding over and plopping down onto the vacant couch.

Canada entered the room but a few minutes later, hugging his signature fluffy white bear tightly to his chest. The young blonde nation looked much better than he had a month ago when he had been plagued by his cotton candy addiction; his skin was no longer as sickly pale, and the dark shadows underneath his eyes had faded until they were no longer there. He was noticeably happier as well, which was a great relief to the timid young nation's twin brother. "Hi America," said Canada, shooting the American a small, polite smile. "Thanks for coming...The machine's in the kitchen." He then gestured to the door to his left, where the machine was being harbored.

"'Kay!" America chirped as he hopped to his feet. "You look a whole lot better, Mattie. It's good to see!" Passing Canada America threw an arm around his brother, pulling him into a one-armed bear hug before a huge grin broke across his face.

Canada momentarily returned the hug with a generous smile. "Yeah," he replied, his smile broadening. "Gil's been real supportive… He really is a good guy, Alfred..." America, however, just nodded in response, and Canada took that as the best answer he would receive.

America then traipsed into the kitchen and seized the handle on the machine that he had previously given away, tugging it behind him with ease back to the front door. "I'm good to go, right? Is there anything else you need while I'm here?" America wondered, pure blue topaz eyes shifting over to his brother.

Canada stood in the doorway and watched as America prepared to take the machine away. The young blonde never thought he would feel so happy to see it go. "Nope, this is all, Al. Thanks again."

With an enthusiastic nod America heaved the machine out of the front door and all but ran back to his house, the thought of playing with his new phone mingled with the citrine-haired Englishman that he had left to his own devices in their semi-shared room (after all, the home that England owned was back in London). His mind went black for a bit as he reached his abode, striding in a half-circle around the premises until he reached the tall gate bordering his backyard; with a deft hand he unlocked it and wheeled the cotton candy machine back into its respective place upon the cement patio adjacent to the back door, a thought piquing his curiosity then. _Y'know, I haven't had cotton candy in so long I can't even remember the last time I ate some! It wouldn't hurt to make some now, before I get caught up with Iggy again!_

After finally towing the cotton candy machine into his home, he situated it in the far back corner of the kitchen, and began to call for England. He called for the smaller nation several times, but received no response no matter how many times he tried.

With a shrug, the caramel haired superpower trudged back into the kitchen, only to find a note from stuck to the fridge that he must've missed earlier. It said that he had been abruptly called to an emergency meeting with the Prime Minister and wouldn't be home until late. America was a bit disappointed, but not exceptionally so, for it gave him more time to make himself some cotton candy. After all, there wasn't really anything else appealing to eat in his house, and his stomach was starting to growl..

At the time, America had thought it would be harmless; what could one little batch of cotton candy hurt? It wasn't like he was going to get addicted, like Canada. No, he was the hero, and he had a lot more willpower than his meeker twin brother did. However, after one taste of the fluffy, mouthwatering treat, he had immediately had the urge to make more…and more..and more…

Now, three days later, here he was, and England was wrenching a freshly made batch of cotton candy out of his hands, which made America whine childishly and grapple for it back, to no avail. Prussia and Canada were also in the room. Canada looked concerned, but his lover Prussia looked downright amused, a signature smirk gracing his features.

"What is this?" asked America, glancing around at the three nations stationed in his household. "What are you all doing here?"

Prussia snickered and casually slung an arm around Canada's shoulders. "Déjà vu, bitch," he chided, garnet eyes glimmering with a daunting look of mischief. "This is a cotton candy intervention."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I gotta admit, that was LOADS of fun to roleplay, you have no idea. XD **

**Hope you enjoyed! Next collab is already going to be started later today, so be expecting some Bad Touch Trio action soon! **

**Reviews are much appreciated, as always. They are love. **

**Until next time!**

**~I.S.**


	8. Teamwork

**A/N: Hallo! Yes, I've returned, with another collab fic for the next edition of the 100 Fanfic Challenge! This was done with the amazing Arashi91****! She's wonderfundle to work with, really. This was total crack, so I hope you enjoy! xD**

_Prompt: Teamwork_

_Pairing: NONE! BTT crack fic? Yes (Though slight mentions of USUK, Spamano, and PruCan.)_

_Summary: The three members of The Bad Touch Trio are more than just average, sexy hot guys. They're average sexy hot guys...in spandex. Fighting crime all across the world and generally being awesome, kesesese!~ But when their old enemy, Earl Grey, returns, whatever are they to do? Crack fic! _

* * *

><p>Antonio sighed wistfully as he plopped down onto the lustrous, silvery fabric of the couch situated in the back corner of Prussia's humble abode (AKA Germany's basement), twirling a plump, bright red tomato around in his tan, calloused hand. A large, extravagant looking flat screen was mounted on the adjacent wall, and beside it an equally large framed picture of the so-called 'Bad Touch Trio', smiling and laughing about some unknown nonsense like they would any other day.<p>

Any other _normal _day, that was.

"So, why did you call us here, Prussia?" asked the Spaniard, his face set into a deep pout as olive orbs remained trained on the luscious tomato. "You interrupted me and my little Lovi~ . We were having so much fun!"

Prussia gestured absently to the vacant seat beside Spain as France traipsed down the stairs leading into the depths of the basement, ever in his flashy and flamboyant manner. "Listen, boys! We's got a mission on our awesome—but not as much as me—hands! We gotta get our head in the game, gotta get in _gear! You hear me? In gear!_" His voice rose to a shout within the handful of seconds it took to spout those few words as a cocky smirk upturned part of his mouth.

He stepped back to the flatscreen television and popped in an old-fashioned, unmarked VHS tape into a concealed opening just underneath the overly large electronic screen before leaping across the room to crash down into the nonexistent spot between Spain and France, leaning forward with pointy elbows digging into thin thighs as if he were scrutinizing a football game, or a security tape.

The Spaniard's eyes lit up with curiosity as he waited for the image to appear on screen. "Oh, another mission~. Sounds fun!" he chimed, taking a hasty bite of his tomato as he leaned back into the plushy confines of Prussia's couch. The watery red liquid dribbled down his exceptionally tanned chin as he chewed slowly, savoring the flavor of the tomato he had taken from Lovino's garden. (Not like Lovi would really mind…right?~)

Suddenly, the TV flickered to life as the tape began to play. The image revealed a mysterious looking silhouette, shrouded in enigmatic shadow as the figure seemed to lean forward, fingers steepled in an almost curious manner. Though the image on screen showed only the outline of a man, Antonio (and the others for that matter) immediately recognized him. The shadows revealed just enough to see that signature curl that seemed to jut from atop of the mysterious man's head, and there was a snowy white bear in the corner that always seemed to be a constant whenever the Trio received a tape from their so-called 'Boss.'

The figure on screen cleared his throat, and then, spoke with an authoritative tone (well, as authoritative as it could sound when diffused through a voice modulator). "Boys, as I'm already sure you know… I have a mission for you."

Francis, Antonio, and Gilbert all waited in silent anticipation as their Boss continued on.

"I'm sure you're all fairly acquainted with our ex-enemy 'Earl Grey,' am I correct?" the figure paused in his speech for a moment, as if allowing time for the three to reflect. "Right… We defeated him a long time ago… but, well, at the risk of sounding clichéd, boys, at least we thought we defeated him."

Antonio's eyebrows raised in surprise. "Eh? Seriously?" he questioned in disbelief. "Earl Grey is back? But… _dios mio_, I was pretty sure we got him good!"

"How the hell is he back? Didn't we pretty much nuke him the last time he showed up?" Prussia hopped to his feet, incensed now into shouting at the screen as his words were punctuated by his French friend's effeminate gasps.

The bear in the background began to gnaw on something greenish clutched between its rather fluffy paws as the processed voice of their Boss emitted from the generously-sized speakers adorning the flatscreen. "Chin up now, boys, there is a silver lining to this terrible situation: our operations specialists have led us to what we think might possibly be Earl Grey's base of operations, or his hideout, so to speak. We're not sure at the moment what the nature of the structure is, but he seems to have zeroed in on Big Ben—I'm sure all three of you are familiar with it, at least to an extent—in London. We want you to infiltrate Big Ben to see if our suspicions are correct. If they are, capture Earl Grey dead or alive, and any sort of accomplices he may have working with him. Report back to me at oh-six hundred hours tomorrow morning, once you all land in London, England. I've scheduled a private jet to take you there early tomorrow morning at four A.M. sharp. You three will be compensated for this job once you have completed your mission, and I have reserved one hotel room for the three of you at Brown's Hotel, off of Ablemarle. I look forward to hearing from you three tomorrow morning." And with that the television set itself clicked off, the tape automatically ejecting from the VCR embedded within the wall.

Ruby eyes surveyed the digital watch adorning Prussia's left wrist before his gaze popped up to his two friends. "So. Looks like we have a plane to catch at crazy ass o'clock in the morning, and it's just now turning over to four in the afternoon. We've got some time to kill, don't we boys?"

* * *

><p><strong><em>5:58 A.M. Local Time. London, England<em>**

Antonio huffed as he towed a heavily weighted suitcase along with him into the grand entrance of Brown's Hotel, the little silver cross strung around his neck by a single chain swaying absently in the breeze that oscillated through the revolving door. Gilbert and Francis followed quickly after, tugging along their own hefty luggage as the three made their way towards the check-in counter.

After going through the usual procedures needed to check into the hotel, they had taken the elevator up to the 20th floor and gotten situated in their hotel suite. Antonio was now lounging lazily on one of the master beds pushed against the wall, delicate fingers toying distractedly with his cross as his bottle green eyes fell upon Francis sitting on the bed beside him. Gilbert meanwhile, was on the other side of the room, sifting through his suitcase, apparently looking through it for something.

"So, amigo," the Spaniard began, propping himself up on his elbows so he could get a better glimpse of his two friends in the room. "When are we planning to do that infiltration thingie?"

Francis was the first to respond with a shrug, absently plucking velvet rose petals from a single peach-hued, de-thorned rose in his hand. "Boss said to report back to him at six o'clock this morning… what time is it now? It must be around that time… he might give us more instructions when we call him, _n'est-ce pas?"_

As if on cue the tube television that dominated the rather petite hotel room hummed to life, the shrouded figure of the trio's Boss and his trademark bear dashing across the screen. "You all will know what to do tonight. Go to the base of Big Ben and scale it. Grappling hooks, among all of the other necessary equipment, have been placed in a secret compartment in your suitcases. Earl Grey shouldn't be expecting this, if we do it right. We launch our attack at midnight." And with that the television cut off as it did before, leaving a distinct thrum within the room that the air had previously lacked.

The Spaniard blinked a bit as he let what the Boss had so abruptly said sink in. "Well that was convenient, si?" he remarked as a grin slowly crept across his face. "Grappling hooks… hmm, sounds fun~!" he hummed, suddenly sitting upright then so he could gaze at Gilbert still hurriedly sifting through his suitcase.

"Did you find the special equipment, amigo?" asked Antonio, absentmindedly fingering the chain around his neck once again.

With a triumphant grin that exuded confidence Gilbert nodded enthusiastically, brows furrowing as he held up three individual sets of charcoal-hued grappling hooks, complete with what had to have been easily a 100-foot long rope. "Of course! Did you really _not_ expect the awesome me to _not_ find these things? This is gonna be hella fun tonight, kesesese!~"

Antonio shifted slightly and cocked his head to the side upon seeing the equipment. "Ah, I see," he replied in a heavily accented voice, his wide grin boasting brilliantly white teeth. "Si, I'm excited! It should be fun!~ For a guy so little, Earl Grey's always a good challenge, no?" He turned to Francis then, letting a small chuckle escape his throat before he next spoke. "Wait 'till Lovi hears about this!"

Francis simply reached out to tousle Spain's choppy sienna hair, mimicking his huge grin. "_Ouais! _Always a good challenge… _honhonhon…~!"_

Earning a confused quirk of the brow from the albino across the room, Francis hopped to his feet brandishing a fresh rose, this one as red as uncut garnet. "Anyway, we have a big night ahead of us, don't we? Let's go and get ready for it! _Maintenant!" _And with that he seized Gilbert's and Antonio's forearms, towing them off into some unknown part of the hotel, his characteristic _"honhonhon~" _chuckle trailing everywhere they laid foot.

* * *

><p>It was a quarter to midnight in London, England. The sun had long ago set behind the horizon, the sky now converted to an expanse of glassy obsidian that seemed to stretch out endlessly before the trio. The stars were not out tonight—they were obscured by the looming clouds above, as always—but it still wasn't a particularly rainy evening. All in all, a good night to embark on their perilous mission.<p>

And what better way to dress for a mission than in spandex? Really, what sort of Bad Touch Trio would they be without it?

All three of them were clad in the traditionally styled 'superhero' uniforms, though each of them had unique touches that suited their character. Antonio was clad in a uniform of tawny yellow and vibrant red, something resembling the 'Superman' symbol adorned upon his chest, except replacing the boldly colored 'S' was a portrayal of a plump, juicy looking tomato (it had taken all of the Spaniard's willpower not to attempt to devour it when he had first received the costume). A florid cape was tied around his neck, and it fluttered in the breeze as he dashed towards the sleek black convertible stationed in back of the hotel that had been deemed the 'Bad Touch Mobile'. Behind him, Gilbert and Francis were quickly following, dressed in a similar fashion—despite the fact that Prussia's uniform was black and white, and a symbol resembling an eagle was plastered across his chest, and Francis's was both red and blue, a few tinges of white here and there, his symbol being an elegantly screen-printed lily.

"Andale, andale, mis amigos!" chanted Spain as he rushed forward, the other two quick on his heels. "To the Bad Touch Mobile!"

With a burst of speed Prussia passed Spain and rounded the sleek obsidian Corvette parked inconspicuously on the street adjacent to their hotel, diving into the open window to slip behind the wheel. He keyed the ignition as France slipped into the backseat and Spain occupied the passenger side—all three national personifications felt somewhat out of place in the car, seeing as how the interior was set up American-style, with the driver's seat on the left rather than the right. A hand darted out of the back and pointed through the windshield, gesturing toward the illuminated face of none other than Big Ben. "Allons-y! To that landmarks, mes petits amis!" And so they began to drive. Fast.

As Spain lounged back into the plushy cushion of the convertible's leather passenger seat, a thought suddenly occurred to him. He visibly perked up, and began to rummage through any compartments within reach, sifting through ammunition, emergency weapons, some sort of car manual—Oh! The coupon for tomatoes he'd lost a while ago!—until finally, in a secret compartment hiding beneath his feet, he found exactly what he was looking for.

" Si! I knew it!" he chimed as he reached into the compartment to pull out his precious treasure. When he resurfaced, the Spaniard held his signature axe in his hands, the beautifully sharpened blade glinting in the dim lights emitting from the dashboard. He yanked on the telescopic handle so that it was fully extended, and he held it firmly in his hands, sighing contentedly and stroking the blade ever-so carefully with his index finger. "Beautiful as always, isn't she?~" he purred, which earned an eye roll from the Prussian beside him. Antonio then pushed the handle back up so that it was once again portable and clipped it to his belt, grinning as the car suddenly came to a stop near the large clock tower commonly known as 'Big Ben'.

"Let's do this sh—!" Prussia tried to exclaim only to be silenced by the hand that shot out again from the backseat.

"You need to be quiet, or else we'll be found out," France whispered, holding a single finger up to his lips as he somehow slipped out of the car from behind Prussia's seat, removing his hand from the albino's mouth.

All three assembled in front of one of the sides of Big Ben at France's lead—after all, he _did_ have covert knowledge of the monument, knowing his connections— as all three whipped out their grappling hooks, double checking that there were no unexpected snags or knots in the nylon rope attached to the ends of all three onyx tools before they tossed them skyward simultaneously. With the quiet clatter of the metallic hooks lodging into some sort of foothold and the cautious tug on three sets of ropes Spain, Prussia, and France moved close to the monument and set a foot upon its side as they carefully began to walk and hoist themselves up at the same time, taking measured steps.

It wasn't at all difficult for them to scale the clock tower. It took a bit of getting used to, for it was a bit bigger building than anything else they'd climbed up in a while, but being as skilled as they were in these types of situations, it soon became almost second nature to slowly creep up the side of the monument, practiced feet finding nooks and crannies to hold to as their grasps were held firmly on the ropes tied around their waists.

They were making exceptionally good progress—Antonio himself was immensely pleased with the way things were turning out. They could be in and out of there in no time at this rate. Besides, they had defeated Earl Grey once; it should've been even easier to defeat him again!

But of course, there had to be a hindrance to their plans, didn't there? There always was.

Just when they were about halfway up Big Ben, Antonio felt something tugging the rope attached to his grappling hook. He whipped his head around immediately, looking to see if it could've been one of his teammates, but they both looked much too immersed in the task at hand to have done such a thing.

"Hey," Antonio whispered, catching the attention of the other two men scaling the clock tower whilst trying to keep his voice as low as possible, so as not to break their cover. "Did you guys feel that thing? Something tugged on my rope…"

Both men shook their heads simultaneously, but did not offer anything further. Antonio then decided that it must've been a particularly powerful gust of wind or something along those lines, and brushed it off with a simple shrug before continuing on.

But then there it was, that tug again. More forceful this time, as if someone were trying to make him slip or fall, without success of course. Antonio was much too skilled in this field to let one simple little jerk of a rope be his downfall. It wasn't coming from where the grappling hooks were lodged, no, then someone would've removed them and had the trio falling instantly… Well, if this was some unknown person attempting to deter the Spaniard, they must've been pretty stupid not to think of going directly to the source to admonish the problem.

The next yank, and the most powerful of them all, almost, just almost, caused Antonio to lose his footing. It was strange and it was starting to irk him just a bit, because Gilbert and Francis didn't seem to be having the same problem as him… so what was going on?

One final tug, and this time it was accompanied with a raucous, boisterous laugh that startled the entire Bad Touch Trio, causing them to momentarily lose their footing.

"What the fuck?" swore Gilbert as he began to regain his balance. The laugh had come from seemingly nowhere, and it had Antonio more than a little startled. It definitely didn't belong to Earl Grey himself. No, it sounded nothing like the malevolent Englishman that they were familiar with. So… who the hell was this person?

"HEY GUYS, YOUR STUPID MISSION IS UP!" yelled the mysterious voice, which sounded awfully ridiculous and childlike for someone who was, supposedly, here to 'end the Bad Touch Trio's mission'. "THE HERO—I MEAN….THE…VILLIAN GUY… YEAH—IS HERE TO PUT THIS ALL TO A STOP ONCE AND FOR ALL!"

France couldn't help but to quirk a brow at the confused villain's boisterous outburst as his hands tightened steadfastly around the rope, all but holding onto it with a death grip. "Are you sure that you're the 'villain guy,' as you put it? You sound confused about your position in this story, _mon petit vaurien!"_

Before the newcomer could respond the voice that the Bad Touch Trio knew and loved—well, not really—shattered the tense air surrounding the immense monument. "YOU DAMN BLOODY WANKER! GET BACK IN HERE THIS INSTANT! WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT SHOUTING STUPID THINGS OBLIQUELY?"

A short smirk upturned one side of France's lips as he and his companions found their footing once again. "I was starting to wonder where old Earl Grey had vanished to," he muttered as all three men scampered up what remained of their journey, hoisting themselves up and over the protrusion on which their grappling hooks had snagged and hopping to their feet within seconds.

The mysterious figure then came into view, hoisting himself up the building's edge with little to no effort at all as he bounded to his feet, practically skipping over to the Supervillian atop the roof of Big Ben from which the irritated shrieking had come from. This man was tall and well-built, with silky blonde locks and electric blue eyes. He was clad in an uncharacteristically casual outfit—ripped, denim jeans, a plaid flannel thrown carelessly over a plain white undershirt, and a pair of Nike sneakers adorning his feet. The only thing that seemed to remotely resemble any sort of villainous attire was a pathetic looking black mask, which looked like he had just simply taken a piece of Dollar Store fabric, cut two eyeholes in it and tied it around his eyes like a blindfold in all but two seconds. It was almost comical, and the three members of the Bad Touch Trio couldn't help but to let out a bemused snicker at the sight.

"Well geez, sorry Art—I MEAN—…Earl Grey," chuckled the blonde as he tugged on the villain's forearm, who, despite his usual intimidating appearance, looked rather annoyed. "But y'know, if you wanna be a villain and all that junk, you gotta make a big entrance! It's totally required."

The scene was just too playfully pathetic, and it had Antonio thinking that defeating Earl Grey would turn out to be much too easy. The wicked Englishman literally facepalmed, an exasperated sigh escaping his lips. "I knew I should've never agreed to let you help me, Alfred," he muttered, the pirate hat—complete with flashy red feather and all—perched atop his head shifting a little in the light breeze.

The man who was supposedly named 'Alfred' pouted childishly, clinging even tighter to the fabric of Earl Grey's long, flowing, black cloak. "My name's not Alfred," he whined, bouncing impatiently back and forth on the balls of his feet. "It's the 'Hamburglar!'"

Gilbert suddenly burst into loud guffaws.

"Git," remarked Earl Grey, rolling his emerald orbs skyward in annoyance and trying, for now at least, to ignore the obnoxious laughter emitting from the silvery-haired hero. "I told you already, that name is _copyrighted_. Now please, I have work to do, so if you'd kindly—"

"Aww no fair! I—"

"Alfred, please, just shut up!"

Gilbert stumbled in-between Antonio and Francis, nudging both of them as he fought for his words between bursts of laughing that frequently overtook him. "So this… is the guy that's… gonna take over the world, huh? He can't… even get his sidekick in line!" At that the Prussian was lost to the consuming throes of his over-the-top laughter.

"Hey! I'm no sidekick!" Alfred piped up before Earl Grey roughly smacked him upside the head, the bluish vein atop his temple pulsing ominously.

"DIDN'T I JUST TELL YOU TO SHUT UP?" Earl Grey hollered, his voice cracking into a novel harmonic tone from the almost tangible anger that seemed to roll off of him in waves, his cheeks accented by the swell of rouge that blossomed within their cream complexion, "Leave the villainy to me! Now, where were we?" A menacing tone crept into his voice as his pitch dropped a few octaves, fingers steepling in front of his chest as if he were contemplating something before turning on his heel to face the Trio. "Ah, yes… world domination time. And I'll start with obliterating you three off of the face of the earth."

It was then that Gilbert seized hold of himself, regaining his composure and straightening defiantly, his head posed so that it was as if he were looking down upon the shorter villain from a handful of feet away. "You'll never take over the world, Earl Grey! Not on my awesome watch!"

Earl Grey chuckled darkly, one of the corners of his lips quirking upward into that ever-familiar, devious smirk. His fingers remained steepled, emerald green eyes taking on an ominous sheen as he slowly strutted forward towards the three members of the Bad Touch Trio. "I doubt you'll be able to stop me, Gilbert," he sneered, stopping just in front of the Prussian to look him dead in the eye, hands placed plaintively on his hips. "I assure you, this plan is much more complex and guaranteed to succeed than the last."

Gilbert snickered, but didn't say a word, staring daggers into the equally frightening eyes of the English Supervillian standing before him. Antonio, meanwhile, furrowed his brows slightly, before asking the question that the others refused to voice. "Oh? And what is this plan, Earl Grey?"

Earl Grey's head suddenly whipped around to look at the Spaniard who had spoken, that condescending smirk still plastered across his face. "Ah, Antonio," he remarked, stepping forwards to stand nearer to the tanned, spandex-clad superhero. "Long time, no see."

Antonio raised a brow. "Si," he simply replied, refusing to supply anything further than that simple phrase.

"…In answer to your question," proceeded Earl Grey, turning his back on the three to stride back over towards his apparent 'sidekick'. "It's simple, really."

'Alfred' piped up suddenly, straightening from his slumped stature and raising his pointer finger in the air as he spoke. "YEAH! ARTIE'S GOT THIS PLAN TO PUT HIS WEIRD BLACK MAGIC STUFF INTO THOSE SCONE THINGIES OF HIS, SO THAT WHEN PEOPLE EAT 'EM, THEY'LL BE ALL BRAINWASHED AND STUFF AND UNDER HIS COMMAND—"

Earl Grey then rushed over towards Alfred, a furious expression on his face, and promptly clapped a hand over the excited American's mouth.

"SHUT UP YOU IDIOT! IT'S NOT JUST THAT! IT'S A LOT MORE O-OMINOUS AND… AND COMPLEX!" he screeched, face quickly turning a violent looking shade of beet-red. He sighed, free hand reaching up to rub his left temple in annoyance before continuing. "Now that they're aware of _part_ of the plan, why don't you go and fight them away, so that we can put the world under our fingertips at long last?"

Alfred weaseled out from underneath the dominating hand of Earl Grey with a nod. "Finally, some action! Let's do this!"

Earl Grey simply shook his head, both hands flitting up to each side of his face and massaging circles into the malleable spots of his temples obscured by citrine hair. "Damn bugger… maybe you'll succeed in keeping them at bay for at least a few minutes…"

Alfred skittered away from his partner in surprisingly springy bounds, halting a handful of feet away from the waiting Trio and striking his self-proclaimed hero pose, left hand balled into a fist and situated at his hip as his right pointed accusingly at the three, head held in such a fashion that oozed confidence. "You guys are goin' down, right _now!"_

"_Non, mon amie, _you are supremely confused!" France chided, his superfluous voice complemented by airy gestures complete with a scarlet rose in one hand. "_L'Espagne, _now's your moment! _Allez!"_

With a raised brow Spain shot a confused look toward the blonde, though a smile secured itself upon his lips. "Huh? What do you mean?"

Prussia burst into laughter as he sharply poked Spain, gesturing to the portable axe blade situated upon his utility belt of sorts. "You're the only one that has an awesome weapon right now! Use it!" he explained.

"Oh, right!" Spain hopped into action then, removing his finely-sharpened axe blade from its perch and whisking out its telescopic handle, instantly fusing the two together and wielding the rather large weapon with both red-gloved hands clasped tight around it.

Alfred eyed the axe with an air of consideration before brandishing his own weapon, whipping out what seemed to be an American flag; the silky fabric boasting stars and stripes attached to a sleek, black handle, the usual point at the top much sharper than any other common flag seen in public areas. With a confident grin, Alfred rushed forward towards the readied Spaniard, both hands clasped tightly around the flag's handle as he raised it in front of himself to block any forthcoming blows.

Antonio ran forwards to the meet the sunny blonde in the middle, a determined look in his olive-hued orbs as he held his axe in the same position. He screeched out some sort of battle cry in Spanish ("PARA LOS TOMATES!") before reaching the energetic American, literally colliding into him as the handles of their weapons clashed harshly against each other. They both gave each other hard, icy stares for one brief moment before the real battle commenced.

The Spaniard was the one to make the first move, yanking his axe away from its current position and expertly—and quite unexpectedly—swinging it at the young American. Alfred just barely had time to duck, but quite miraculously he evaded the blow, resurfacing with a smug grin plastered across his face. "HA! CAN'T GET ME!" the blonde sing-songed, eyes alight with fiery excitement.

Chocolate brows furrowed as Spain hopped back a space and tried to swing again, aiming for his rival's midriff, but was met with the sharpest span of the blade wedging itself within the obsidian, painted hilt of Alfred's flag. Though the American sported a dumbstruck expression, as if he weren't expecting to parry so successfully, he took the opening that presented itself; he yanked his flag back at a breakneck pace, complete with Spain's axe still embedded within the wood as a hand abandoned his flag for the handle of the Spaniard's blade.

Spain charged the younger man, yet Alfred sidestepped him and snatched the axe out of his flag, spinning on his heel for momentum as he let go. The modernized weapon sung as it whipped through the crisp, early morning air, straight over the edge of the monument in which the super forces clashed. "WATCH YOUR AIM, YOU GIT!" the accented voice of Earl Grey screeched, seemingly from a corner of Big Ben to the left of the Trio; apparently he had made his way over there in the short span of Spain and Alfred's battle.

Spain froze to the spot before his knees gave out from sheer surprise, bottle green eyes watery and wide. He clattered to the ground and pounded the cement with a fist, twinges of pain searing one side of his right hand. "Noooo!~ My beautiful axe…!"

Meanwhile, whilst Spain wept profusely over his lost weapon and Alfred stood there looking more than a tad bit confused over the Spaniard's desperation, Earl Grey was making his way steadily over to where his sleek, chrome-tinted laptop was perched, among a cluster of other technological devices and various other things he needed to accomplish his devious plans. The rest of the Bad Touch Trio had been too occupied watching Alfred (suppose the daft American was good for some things…git…not to mention the se—Uh. Uh. Cough cough cough. Ahem.)and Antonio engaged in their perilous battle, and this had given the Supervillian just enough time to slowly creep over to the precious device.

Sure, this laptop may have looked like any other ordinary laptop—to the rest of the bloody idiotic world, at least—but this thin, efficient little computer had much more than just porn, USUK fanfictions, and recipes for boiling water on its hard drive. (Ooh. Hard drive. That was another sexual innuendo he could use in the bedroom with Alfred late—Oh bloody hell narrator, get to the point.) No. This laptop was special. With just one little touch of what Early called his 'special button' hidden secretively at the laptop's right side, he would activate all of the currently idle factories that he had built all across the world so that they could begin to produce his extraordinary scones at mass production speed.

With a touch of Black Magic, the Supervillian could not only make people want to actually buy and ravenously devour the scones, but he could also make it so that when eaten, all of the citizens of the Earth would automatically feel a compulsive urge to obey him, and so they would! And then, cue the "RULE BRITTANIA" scene. Mwahahahahah… hahah… ha. With this rather brilliant plan, Earl Grey could simultaneously become an overlord, and a multi-millionaire in only a matter of weeks!

It was perfect. Absolutely, positively, perfect.

That was, until stupid, idiotic, narcissistic Prussia just _had_ to spot Early creeping over to his laptop. Oh bullocks.

"STOP RIGHT THERE, NON-AWESOMENESS!" came the bellowing cry of who could only be the audacious German superhero, clad in… very tight… conforming spandex. (Oh, by the way, nice ass, Prussia. Though Spain's is obviously better.) "What do you think you're doing, trying to sneak away from the awesome me and my crew?"

The Englishman scoffed at the statement, one brow raised. "Do you really think that a villain of my caliber would attempt to 'sneak away,' as you put it?" Earl Grey retorted, complete with air quotes as he pivoted to face Prussia.

"Looks like that's what you're doing! Like hell I'll let you get away!" Prussia's dominant hand balled into a fist as he noticeably snarled before breaking into a run, charging straight toward the diminutive baddie.

"Wait, _La Prusse,_ there's no need… I hold the snake in the hole, so to speak? _Honhonhon…~"_

Prussia halted in his tracks, halfway to Earl Grey as his head snapped back to glance toward none other than his French comrade, carmine-red eyes bulging before a triumphant grin broke across his face.

There France stood, oceanic eyes lidded at half-mast as his arms coiled around the extremely nervous-appearing American who the Frenchman had approached, one holding the other close to his spandex-clad body as the hand of his other hovered just above Alfred's vital regions, posed to strike. His head moved forward, chin perching upon Alfred's shoulder as he spoke, "Well, Earl Grey? What will you do, now that I've captured _ton petit _sidekick? I suggest you give up this little power charade, else suffer the wrath of _le très bien moi! _And by wrath, of course I suggest _l'amour, non?"_ He shifted just slightly to peck the side of Alfred's neck before glancing back toward the villain, sporting a devious smirk.

Alfred immediately spluttered, his beloved flag clattering to the ground in all of his confusion as he let out a rather uke-esque (NO SHUT UP IT WAS VERY SEME-LIKE) yelp, orbs of cerulean blue widening suddenly in a mixture of both shock and imminent fear. He sent a pleading look Earl Grey's way, the kind of 'oh-my-fucking-god-Artie-this-perverted-spandex-laced-French-weirdy-is-totally-going-to-rape-me-help-me-help-me-oh-my-god-burgers-burgers-burgers' look that he really only gave the Supervillian whilst they were watching very… grotesque French horror movies. Which was almost never… Unless Earl Grey _felt _ like it— _shut up_.

Speaking of Earl Grey, he was practically fuming at the sight of his adorable sidekick in the arms of the perverse, wine bastard. All previous thought of putting his plan into action promptly slipped his mind as his hands balled into tight little fists at his sides, two monstrously large brows coming together to form one large one in all of his wrath. "YOU BLOODY DISGUSTING FROG!" shrilled Earl Grey, stomping murderously over to where the two stood at the center of the Clock Tower's rooftop. "YOU LET ALFRED GO RIGHT THIS INSTANT OR I SWEAR I WILL SCONE YOU INTO OBLIVION YOU STUPID WINE BASTARD—!"

"Oh, will you? I'd love to see you try," France all but purred, his poised hand inching closer to its young target—mainly for emphasis, partially for his own amusement—as he stated his terms, "Now, if you want to save your little damsel in distress, I suggest you drop your plan of trying to take over the world and come quietly… else, risk the exploitation of Alfie here by none other than _moi! _Personally, I like the latter—"

"H-Hey, wait! I'm not a chick! Don't call me a damn damsel!" Alfred piped up, apparently having just processed his captor's words as he squirmed in the other's grasp, attempting to free himself.

He never expected France to be so strong as the arm that bound him tautened against his chest and pulled him more into the other blonde as the European man continued, ignoring the interruption, "—but ultimately, it's up to you, _Monsieur _Earl Grey. Though we are the heroes and must see to justice, we will be civil, _bien sûr! _So… what say _toi?"_

Antonio, who had been bawling over his lost axe for about the past 10 minutes as all of the hubbub continued, now finally seemed to jolt out of his despaired trance, his olive tinted orbs prying themselves open and falling upon the scene unfolding before him. When he came to realize that their band of heroes seemed to have the upper hand, he immediately brightened, forgetting momentarily about his axe (though his mind was still screaming "PORR QUEEEEEEEE?" like a desperate woman from a Spanish soap opera) as he bounded upright to stand next to his German comrade. "We are winning, si?" he whispered to the Prussian beside him, which earned him an eye roll and a cocky smirk in response.

"Duh!" replied Gilbert, gesturing to the sly Frenchman and the American in his arms, as well as the infuriated Brit to their left. "Of course we're winning, we always do, for we are the awesome!"

Antonio nodded in response, his trademark, dopey grin occupying his sunny features. "I knew it!" he chimed, before training his eyes back upon the scene before him.

Speaking of which…

"Oh, BULLOCKS!" yelled Earl Grey, who was tapping his foot impatiently and rubbing his forehead as if he were in deep thought. "Stupid, stupid, stupid little git, I swear whatever happens to you, Alfred, you will not get the end of my rage for _years_—"

Alfred winced momentarily. Maybe surrendering himself to the Frenchman would be better than a year of Earl Grey's wrath and his terrible cooking… He could just imagine it, Arti—EARL GREY—stomping towards him with that little vein in his temple pulsing like mad and a spatula in his hands, ready to spank Alfred senseless, and—_OH WAIT THAT SOUNDED GREAT._

_Come on Arthur, come on Arthur, save me save me save me so you can do naughty things to me—I MEAN—_

As Francis giggled that sort of 'Honhonhon!~' laugh once again, which the Supervillian detested, Earl Grey sighed, pressing a hand to his temple in annoyance. "Alfred, I really _really_ hate you—AND YOU TOO YOU FROG!" The Englishman grimaced, strongly fighting the urge to leave Alfred with the disgusting Frenchman instead of saving the git— BUT OF COURSE THAT WAS HIS AMERICAN BOOTY AND HIS AMERICAN BOOTY ONLY, AHEM, SO HE COULDN'T LEAVE HIM WITH THE PERVERSE FROG AHEM… Bloody wankers… "Let Alfred go right now," continued Earl Grey, albeit a little more calmly than earlier, but still with venom laced in his tone, reluctantly handing over the laptop with his precious, precious plans on its memory card… "And I'll stop now. Okay, you bloody idiots? Stupid Alfred, stupid git, bloody fucking…"

A pointy elbow jabbed Prussia's ribs then, followed by a curious emerald gaze. "So, did we win?" Spain inquired under his breath, though he kept an eye on the scene out of the corner of his periphery.

Prussia nodded, though he threw balled fists to his hips all triumphant-like and bellowed, "So, this means you're going to stop your unawesome conquest of taking over the world, Earl Grey?"

Earl Grey noticeably fidgeted, though his face clearly sported a resigned expression. "Yes, you idiot, did you not catch what I just said? Fucking berk…" He turned his attention toward France and the encumbered Alfred once more. "Give me back my henchman and I'll come with you."

It seemed to take France a moment to decide whether or not to let go of Alfred—his arm unclenched from around the American with an air of dejected tragedy, hands resuming their places at his sides instead of threatening to invade the young sidekick's frontal region. Prussia's victory laugh split the air as he and Spain bounded over to Earl Grey, joined within the span of a few seconds by Alfred, and removed the pair of handcuffs all members of the Bad Touch Trio had been equipped with, slapping them with an easy _click_ onto the wrists of the bad guys. Prussia amused himself with making faces at Earl Grey as Spain left the German's side, traipsing across the top of Big Ben over to France. He clapped his flaxen-haired friend on the shoulder in a comforting manner, a huge grin alighting his face. "You'll have your chance one of these days, _Francia! _Be happy, we caught the bad guys!"

France glanced up to look Spain full in the face for a good moment before he nodded, the shade of a smile quirking the corners of his mouth. "Ah, _ouais, mon ami, _I know. And you're right. Finally, we're victorious! We must celebrate tonight!"

"Yeah!" Prussia chimed in from a few feet away, still making faces. "With a lot of beer! Kesese!~ But let's get these guys back to base, turn them in and get paid! All that shit!"

And with that the Bad Touch Trio nodded in unison, somehow clambering back down Big Ben via a trap door that Spain had stumbled over—they were able to cut through the clockwork instead of having to scramble down the side of the massive monument, much to their delight.

* * *

><p>They were back in their usual hangout area (AKA Germany's basement), lounging against the plushy cushions of Prussia's silvery couch and making casual conversation. ("Whoa dude, you and Romano use tomatoes during <em>sex? How the fuck does that work?" "Honhonhon~! Well, mon ami, you and Matthew do use maple syrup sometimes, oui?" "APPFT." "Oh! The tomatoes? Well it's simple really!~ You just take the tomatoes and-," BUT ENOUGH ABOUT THAT!) It was like any other normal day for the three of them, that was, until the expansive screen of Prussia's extravagant television suddenly flickered to life..<em>

"Whoa!" exclaimed Prussia, eyes widening as a mysterious figure – with a rather _distinctive_ looking curl that most definitely didn't belong to their boss- appeared on screen, shrouded in shadow just as their boss usually was when they received a conference call from him. The three members of the Bad Touch Trio cocked their heads curiously to the side, brows furrowing and eyes trained upon the unknown silhouette on screen. "Who the fuck is that?"

"Yo, bastardos!"

Ah.

_That_ was who.

"Ro—Romano?" asked Spain in disbelief, bottle green eyes going even wider than earlier, if that were possible. "What are you doing on Prussia's fancy screen thingie?"

The figure seemed to look flustered, though it was hard to tell due to the dark shading. "R-Romano? Who's that? I'M THE TOMATO KING! And I'm going to take you three stupid bastards down, so that I can have all of the tomatoes in the world!" exclaimed the figure triumphantly, the ever-recognizable Italian accent clear through his tone.

"W-Wha—," stuttered Prussia, blinking feverishly as if to take in what the Italian had so abruptly said. "You want…all the tomatoes in the world—PFFFFT."

There was a brief moment of silence.

And then all three of them burst out laughing.

Romano bristled- the palpable anger exuding off of him in waves even through the glossy sheen of the TV screen- and shook a fist at the three idiotic men doubled over in laughter on the lavish couch. "H-Hey! Shut up you bastards! Y-you should all fear me!"

"Ah, Roma!~" interjected Spain through loud guffaws, staring at the figure with obvious adoration. "You are so adorable! I'll give you all of the tomatoes you want, my Lovi!"

The other two's laughter grew considerably louder.

"S-SHUT UP YOU BASTARD."

And then the image of the feisty Italian disappeared from the screen just as quickly as it had come.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: ...**

**Don't ask questions you don't know the answers to.**

**Review please? They are what keep me/us going! ;3**

**~I.S.**

**P.S.- There are a lot of more fics in the works for this challenge, even though the process of them being finished and posted is kind of slow. But, I really would like to finish this Challenge, be able to say I did and all that, and so I assure you, even if I don't update as fast as I would like to, I (and those that I am collabing with) am working diligently on this fic! **


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